


Leverage: The Land of the Living

by Gilbert_H_Karr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilbert_H_Karr/pseuds/Gilbert_H_Karr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This piece has a tag to the Grave Danger Job. Hardison is facing the after-effects of Javier's coffin, and the rest of the team wants him to understand that he doesn't have to face them alone. Rated Teen and up for mild language. Thank you for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eliot watched Hardison carefully as he came downstairs, and settled himself at the desk in front of the large screens. Sophie had noticed it first, no doubt because it wasn't a physical injury—or not solely physical anyway. The grifter had come to him earlier in the day, and informed him that something was “off” with the hacker, imploring him to watch the young man and tell her if he agreed with her assessment. Granted, it hadn't been but a couple of days since Hardison had been placed in a casket when the team ran afoul of the Mexican drug cartel, and buried alive. The man had claustrophobia, so it was understandable that he might feel like he had lost a step, and needed some time to get back on his feet. Watching him, Eliot was starting to understand what Sophie meant. There was nothing overtly obvious—his movements were a bit slower than normal, his actions just a tad clumsier. His eyes were rimmed with the beginning of dark circles, and his normal gregarious personality wasn't as happy-go-lucky as usual.  Eliot knew he would need to approach this situation carefully; people tended to get touchy about things they didn't want to discuss, and he didn't want the young man to shut him out.

 

As soon as the briefing was over, Sophie approached him, pulling him off toward another area of the bar so they would be afforded a bit more privacy. As he went with her, he called back over his shoulder to the rest of the team, “There's dessert upstairs, if anybody wants some.”

 

When they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Sophie spoke up. “So? Did you notice anything?”

 

“All right. I'll admit he seems a little more subdued than usual, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. I'd be a little subdued, too, if I had watched my life flash before my eyes in that damned box.”

 

Sophie paused, considering what he said, and then nodded. “Agreed.” Eliot hoped this was the end of it, for Hardison's sake. No one deserved to have someone as observant as their grifter watching their every move. If he knew Sophie, though, it wasn't over yet. A wave of sympathy washed over him.

 

“So, you'll talk to him, won't you?”

 

“Sophie!”

 

“Just to be sure he's all right.”

 

“Sophie!” he growled, in exasperation. Truth be told, he planned to talk to Hardison, but Sophie didn't have to know that. If what was going on was what he thought it was, it would be hard enough for the young man to deal with without him having to face the scrutiny of the rest of the team. He looked at the woman standing before him, and he said, “All right, Sophie, I'll talk to him, but you stay out of it.  And don't say anything to the rest of the team.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, and he broke in, “I mean it, Soph. Not a word. If you want my help, you do things my way.”

 

She smiled and acquiesced, almost too easily, and Eliot made a mental note to be on his guard. He would have a hard time believing this was the end of it. Smiling, he touched her elbow gently, and spoke. “I'm going upstairs now, if you'd like dessert.”

 

“Maybe later. Right now, I think I'll run a stall on the other members of the team.”

 

“Suit yourself. Give me ten minutes, and I'll have him somewhere private.” Eliot saw that Hardison was still sitting at the bar, and he put a hand on the man's shoulder. “Hey. Come on upstairs. I need your help.”

 

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Hardison thought he knew what this was about, and he didn't really want to deal with it tonight. Especially not in front of Eliot.  “I'm really tired.”

 

“No. Now.” His grip tightened on the other man's shoulder, and Hardison winced and stood.

 

“All right. All right. I'm coming.”

 

Hardison followed the retrieval specialist upstairs, and somewhere along the way, the hand on his shoulder became an arm around his neck. He opened the door to Nate's apartment, and walked straight to the kitchen, where he set out the dessert he had made earlier, along with plates and spoons. Then, with his arm still around Hardison's neck, he led the younger man into a room off of Nate's apartment. The room had once been an employee lounge in the days that the building had a door man, and it had an en suite bathroom, with a single stall water closet, a sink, and a shower. Eliot and Hardison had worked together to renovate it, and had turned it into a combination treatment room, for injuries that required a bit more privacy than Nate's living room, and training gym.

 

“Why are we here?” Hardison asked.

 

Eliot handed the younger man a small pad of paper and a pen.  “Inventory,” he said. “Write down what I tell you.”

 

Hardison looked at him, confusion coloring his features. Eliot had never asked for help with inventory in this room before. Of course, the room had never been quite so well-stocked, and he had been really busy lately, so it was possible he had gotten behind or wanted to save time. Deciding not to ask, he took the pad and paper, and got ready to write.

 

“Antiseptic.” Hardison wrote it down.

 

“Alcohol pads.” Hardison added that to the list. Eliot was silent for a long moment, checking the rest of that cabinet. There was a good supply of almost everything else.

 

“Cotton balls.”

 

On and on it went, with Eliot opening and closing cabinets, and periodically calling out something to add to the list, and Hardison writing it down. When they were halfway done, Eliot stopped to allow Hardison to catch up. He sat down behind the desk, straightening the already neat space. Anyone who knew him well would say that he was nervous.

 

“What's going on, man?”

 

“What do you mean? I'm just waiting for you to catch up.”

 

“You don't usually ask for help with inventory, and you seem worried about something. Why did you really want me to come in here with you?”

 

_Well, the hacker was getting more observant._ He shifted position in the chair, and said, “Fair enough. I wanted to check in with you. See how you were doing. You went through an ordeal inside that box, and I can't help but feel that it had to have taken it's toll.”

“I'm fine.”

 

“Yeah. That's why you have dark circles under your eyes and your usual thousand watt personality has dimmed a bit. If I had to guess, I'd say you're not sleeping.” Eliot opened one of the larger drawers in the desk and drew out a small hot plate. He plugged it in and turned it on.

 

The hacker glared at him, slightly embarrassed that Eliot read him so easily. “How—How do you know that?”

 

Eliot smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “It's not that hard to figure out. You're not quite as energetic as you were before.” Seeing the young man's discomfort, he said, “Hey, nothing to be ashamed of. Are you having nightmares?” Eliot didn’t make eye contact with the young man, thinking it would be easier for him to talk about what was bothering him, if he didn’t feel as though every move he made was under scrutiny. Rummaging in one of the other drawers, he drew out a small leather pouch, loosened the drawstring, and sprinkled some of the leaves into the bottom of a mug.

 

“Sometimes. There are nights I can't close my eyes without being back in that box. And then all the fear and the feelings of suffocation and claustrophobia come back. It's getting to the point that I don't want to sleep.”

 

“Well, you can't stay awake forever.” He filled the mug with water from a small pitcher that sat on the desk, and placed the mug on the hot plate.

 

“I can try.”

 

“That's not the answer. The nightmares won't go away until you deal with them.”

 

“Deal with them how?” Hardison's voice was laced with suspicion.

 

“I have some suggestions that might help. Things I do when the nightmares visit me. They never completely go away, but they do get better. We'll discuss what you can do about the nightmares tomorrow. The important thing now is to help you get some sleep.”

 

“I don't want to sleep, Eliot. If you want to help, help me stay awake.”

 

“If I do that, it’ll be a whole lot worse when you finally do sleep. You can trust me when I tell you that eventually, you won’t have a choice. Why not sleep here instead? Let me stand watch with you. I can wake you if you start having nightmares. We will face the shadows together.”

 

Hardison turned away. When he looked back, Eliot was still watching him. He felt compelled to say something.

 

“I can’t. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

 

“Then let me help. We’re strong enough together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

 

“You say help. How?”

 

Eliot reached over and took the mug off the hot plate, then reached into the drawer next to him and brought out a small jar of honey. He picked up the small wooden spoon and watched as the excess honey ran back into the jar. When enough of it was off that he could move it, he sank the spoon into the mug, and stirred it around.

 

Noticing the expression on the young man’s face, he motioned for him to sit down in the chair on the side of the desk. When he had done so, Eliot handed him the cup and said, “A good friend taught me how to make this tea when I started having the nightmares. Drink it. It’ll help.”

 

“Will it ensure that I don’t dream?”

 

“Only a sedative can provide a sleep without dreams, and then, only sometimes, and if you did have nightmares, you wouldn’t be able to wake yourself up from a sedative. This will help to ensure that you have fewer dreams, and that the ones you have are mostly positive. You can do this, Hardison. I have faith in you.”

 

Hardison nodded woodenly, and took the cup that was offered. Watching him, Eliot got the impression that the hacker was like one of the robot friends he built for Parker. Mechanically, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip. A very pleasant heat flowed through him each time he took a sip, and when he had finished half the cup, he was growing sleepier.

 

He put himself to bed on one of the cots in the room, and he was asleep as soon as he stretched out. Eliot rose and moved to cover him with a blanket. Then, he poured himself some coffee and sat back down in the chair behind the desk, settling in for a long night watch.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2 **

****

Hardison began to stir, and Eliot looked up from where he was sitting at the desk, laying his book open face-down in front of him.  Eliot wondered if the young man was having a nightmare, but a moment later, he turned over onto his back, and opened his eyes. Then, he stretched and moved to sit up. By that time, Eliot was on his feet, moving over next to the younger man.

 

As awareness returned, Hardison briefly wondered where he was, and then he saw Eliot.

 

“How are you feeling?” Eliot asked.

 

“I'm fine. Wait. What time is it?”

 

“About 6 am.”

 

“You mean I slept—”

 

“All night without nightmares? Yeah.”

 

“What was in that tea?”

 

“You know, I'm not really sure. I never asked. It's always been enough for me that it worked.”

 

“Thanks, man. What's for breakfast?”

 

“We'll get to breakfast in a few minutes. We still need to talk.”

 

“Why? I can just come to you when I have the nightmares, you can make me tea, and everything will be fine.”

 

Eliot smiled. “I'm flattered by your faith in me, but it won't work. If you don't deal with the root cause of the nightmares, they won't go away, and eventually it'll come to a point where even the tea doesn't work.”

 

Hardison swallowed hard. “How do we deal with it?”

 

“There are several things we can do. One of the most important things we can do is talk about them. Talking about them takes any power they have over you away, and it takes away the fear.” Eliot didn't miss the look on the younger man's face. “If you'd rather talk to someone else, I can set that up for you. I can put you in touch with the same person I talked to about mine.”

 

“N-n-no. If I have to do this, I'd rather do it with somebody I know. You said there were other things we could do.”

 

“Meditation, visualization, breathing exercises, a good diet, and anything else that helps keep you in a stable place will help to reduce the symptoms. Eventually, we'll want to work on getting you over your claustrophobia. Then there are different therapies, which we'll discuss, and decide together which ones to try.”

 

“Therapies? Can you do that?” Eliot nodded, but he didn't elaborate.

 

“I'll touch base with some friends for some suggestions. And there's one more thing I want to do with you.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“I wanna teach you to defend yourself.” The hacker turned away, but Eliot pushed forward. “I should have insisted on it a long time ago, Hardison. If there's ever a time I'm not here to do it, you need to be able to take care of yourself. This might not have happened if they hadn't been able to put you in that box in the first place.”  Hardison still wouldn't look at him. Growing exasperated, Eliot said, “Damn it, Hardison. This won't happen again. Not on my watch.”

 

If Hardison was honest with himself, he understood why Eliot felt the way he did. He didn't exactly look forward to training with Eliot. The man had exacting standards when it came to fighting technique, and Hardison didn't like getting his tail kicked, even in training, but Eliot was a good teacher, and he knew the man had a point.

 

Hardison looked Eliot in the eye and nodded to show he understood.

 

“Good. Thank you. Now let's go see about that breakfast.”

 

(0o0)

 

Eliot had managed to empty the apartment for a couple of hours. They needed supplies for the upcoming job, so Eliot sent Parker and Sophie shopping. After finishing his work, Nate had gone down to the bar, and was passing the afternoon down there. Hardison had been doing research for their next job, and he was packing up his computer. He was still tired, and all he wanted to do was to be alone.

 

“Hardison,” Eliot called. Hardison groaned inwardly, and walked over toward Eliot. When he got close, Eliot put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into the room. Eliot guided him to a chair, and the hacker sat down.

 

“Before we get started, do you have any questions?”

 

“Yeah. Why do we have to do this now?”

 

“The sooner we do this, the sooner the nightmares go away and you get back to a life as close to the one you had before as possible. Besides, I thought you wanted to keep the team from finding out, so we need to do it while they're away.”

 

“Okay, but I hate this.”

 

“Man, you're the one who's usually touchy feely. If anybody should hate this, it's me.”

 

“Yeah. How are you able to do therapies with me? Doesn't seem like your style.”

 

“Well, the psychological principles of interrogation aren't really that different from the psychological principles of therapy. An interrogator has to understand how a person thinks, what his or her greatest fear is, and how to exploit that fear in order to get the information they need. They have to understand how the mind and body are one unit, and how each one reacts to pain and to stress. They have to be able to understand the different possible responses to specific situations, and know which response a given person is likely to have in a given situation. Even then, there are no guarantees. Human beings are always full of surprises.”

 

“I see.” Hardison didn't sound all that happy about what he was hearing.

 

“Like I said before, if that makes you uncomfortable, I can call in somebody else.”

 

“No.”

 

“Then let's get to it. Close your eyes.”

 

Hardison paused for just another moment, and then he slowly closed his eyes and waited. Whether he wanted to do this or not, he trusted Eliot.

 

Eliot spoke again, “I want you to think back to when you woke up in that box. Describe it.”

 

Hardison spoke very slowly and his voice wavered when he started. “It-it was dark. The ringing of the phone woke me up.” He moved his mouth for a few moments but no sound came out. Eliot reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Finally, he found his voice, “I-I can't.”

 

“Easy. Relax, man. It's all right.”

 

“I can't do this.”

 

“Yes, you can. Just relax and control your breathing. Breathe in, two, three, four. Hold two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four. Breathe in, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four.” Eliot watched Hardison carefully, and was happy to see that the breathing exercises were starting to calm the young man down. “Good. That's better.”  As he grew calmer, he also grew more embarrassed.

 

“I'm sorry. I don't know why I can't do it.”

 

“You _can_ do it. You did fine. It'll take a while to get it all out, probably. We'll move on to something else, and try again later.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot and Hardison had spent the afternoon engaged in a variety of activities aimed at helping Hardison come to terms with his nightmares. Between self defense training, meditation, and visualization exercises, and another attempt to help the young man talk through what happened to him in that box, Eliot could tell that Hardison was exhausted, so the hitter sent his friend off to take a shower. He moved out into the living area of Nate's apartment. It was time for him to take care of a bit of unfinished business.

The living area of the apartment was still empty, though Eliot swore he had heard the door open moments ago. As he looked around trying to determine who, if anyone, was back and if so, where they were, he heard a clanking on the metal stairs. As legs and feet appeared on the stairs, he growled low in his throat. He stood quietly watching as the mastermind came down the stairs. When Nate stepped off the last step, Eliot stalked over to him and Nate found himself backed against the wall. Eliot slapped a hand on either side of Nate, effectively blocking him in.

Nate swallowed hard, and Eliot, eyes blazing, relished the anger that coursed through him for a moment before he spoke. When he did so, his voice would melt lead. “Never again, Nate.” Eliot felt the man he used to be start to take over his personality, and he ruthlessly clamped down on the anger before it erupted. He forced the iron-clad control he normally exercised over his temper back in place. 

“Are we okay, Eliot?” Nate's eyes were wide, and his voice shook. Eliot saw the fear in his eyes, but this time, it did nothing to dispel his anger. Nate had played this card one too many times, and Eliot intended to see that he didn't play it again.

Eliot's voice was quiet, deadly. “The next time I tell you to take me with you, you listen to me. When I tell you the risk is too great, we make another plan. If I say walk away, we walk away. You may be the leader of this team, but I'm in charge of security, and protection is my job. You'll respect the decisions I make regarding security.”

“And if I say no?” Eliot had to give the man credit. He had guts. Well, nothing lasts forever, he reminded himself.

“You don't need me if you're gonna insist on making your own decision anyway. I'll disappear back into the netherworld, and leave you to it. And I'll take Parker and Hardison with me, and Sophie too, if any of them want to go. I won't have you putting them in danger because your judgement is compromised.  
As suddenly as it had come, Eliot's anger left him, and was replaced by a sort of apathy. He let his arms drop to his sides, and turned to go back into the treatment room with Hardison. Nate's voice stopped him at the door, but he didn't turn around.

“Okay. Okay! You're right. From now on, you're completely in charge of security.” Surprised at the note of sadness he heard in the mastermind's voice, Eliot turned around and looked at him. Nate propped himself against the wall as though it was his lifeline, and spoke again. “Oh Hell, I'm no good at this.” He sank to his knees against the wall, and Eliot sat down beside him.

After a brief, strained silence, Eliot asked, “When did you stop trusting me? Was it when I killed everybody in that warehouse, or after?”

“I didn—” Nate started to protest, but fell silent as Eliot held up a hand.

“Save it, Nate. You haven't trusted me for a while. Not completely. It started sometime last year. Damn it, Nate, did you think I wouldn't notice that you were subtly taking over some of the security decisions?”

Nate had no idea what to say to that. The hitter was absolutely right, and Nate wouldn't insult his intelligence by pretending otherwise. “You're right, Eliot,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“I guess this is partly my fault. I should have called you on it before now, but I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, and truthfully, it didn't bother me as long as it didn't interfere with the team, but now it has. I feel like it started after that job in the warehouse, or else with Sterling last year, at the chess tournament.” He saw that remark register on the older man's face, and the final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in Eliot's head. “That's what this is all about, isn't it?”

“Well, now that you mention it, it didn't make a lot of sense that you were so easily taken in by Sterling.”

“What?”

Nate knew he needed to tread lightly here, so he chose his words with care. “You're one of the most cautious men I've ever met, Eliot. It took you two years after you joined the team to allow any of us to cook for you. I never understood how you allowed Sterling, a man you don't even like, much less trust, to slip you tainted coffee, and you kept drinking it, even after you knew it tasted funny. Besides that, you allowed him to use the binoculars on the mark, instead of using the parabolic.”

“Oh, that. Nate, why didn't you come to me with this?”

“I couldn't. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want you to think I was accusing you of something.”

Eliot laughed—a short mirthless bark that abruptly cut off. “You think I wasn't asking myself the same questions? After it was all over, I mean.” He paused, gazing off into the distance. “It made sense at the time—enough that I could have justified it—to everyone but myself, that is.”

Nate looked confused. “I don't understand.”

“Think about it, Nate. I trusted Sterling in that situation, at that time, because it made sense to do so. We were allies. He had no reason to betray us—he was depending on us to help him. Haven't you heard the old saying, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

Of course. When Nate thought about it that way, Eliot was right. It made perfect sense. Nate was pulled from his reverie when the hitter spoke again.

“For what it's worth, Nate, the alarm bells were going off. And that, ultimately, is what concerned me—enough that I decided to have myself checked out.”

“Wait, it concerned you that alarm bells were going off inside you? Isn't that what's supposed to happen?”

“It concerned me that they were going off and I hadn't listened to them. So, after the college job with Conrad, and all that happened afterwards, I took the opportunity to talk to Doc about this issue as well. I won't go in to what she told me—you can ask her yourself next time you see her—but you can be sure the issue was handled.”

“I'm sure it was.” Nate put his head in his hands. “I'll say it again. I'm sorry, Eliot.”

Eliot smiled and waved off the apology. “I think we understand each other.” Nate nodded.

Eliot stood and said, “I have some work to do. The others will be back soon, and I have some calls to make.” He held out a hand to Nate, and helped him stand up. Without another word between them, Eliot made his way back into the treatment room and closed the door.

Hardison was sitting on one of the cots, fully dressed and toweling his hair dry. As Eliot approached, Hardison watched him warily.

“Hardison, is something wrong?”

“I-I can't. I can't do any more right now.”

“Relax, man. I wasn't going to ask you to do more right now. You need to get away for a while. Have some fun. Parker should be back soon. Why don't you take her to a movie?”

Hardison nodded. Then he stopped dead, with a stricken expression on his face. Eliot gazed at him with a look he couldn't read.

“Who's outside? I heard you talking to someone.”

“I was talking to Nate, but I'd bet he's down at the bar by now.”

Eliot almost laughed as the hacker opened the door a crack and peered out. When he was satisfied that the room beyond was empty, he slipped out and sat on the sofa, opening the laptop that sat there. Closing the door behind him, Eliot shook his head, and sat back down at the desk, pulling out his phone as he did so.

He dialed a number, listened for a moment, and then said, “Hey. I need some advice.”


	4. Chapter 4

Parker and Hardison returned from an afternoon matinee movie with just enough time to take a nap before dinner. They were seated together on Nate's sofa, when Eliot walked through from the kitchen and said, “Hardison, follow me.” Hardison grumbled under his breath, and Eliot growled, “Now.” Hardison swallowed hard, but he stood up and walked over to Eliot, following him into the treatment room.

 

Eliot sat in the desk chair, and motioned Hardison to sit on one of the cots directly across from him. Looking his friend in the eyes, Eliot asked, “How are you feeling?”

 

“I'm okay,” Hardison said, studying his hands. Eliot could tell he wasn't looking forward to what he thought was coming.

 

“Relax. We're not starting again just yet. I want you to come to my place for the next part of this.”

 

“Why?” Hardison didn't want to seem rude, but Eliot was such a private person that he had never actually invited any of them over before, and Hardison wondered why he would do so now.

 

“I told you, part of getting you back to a stable place is making sure you're eating well and doing what you need to do to stay balanced and healthy. I don't know about you, but I don't want to sleep here for a week or a month or as long as this takes. My beds are more comfortable than the cots in here. I can help by cooking for you, and making sure you're getting enough exercise and rest. Doing those things there will be a tad more comfortable than doing them here. I thought it would be a good way to get you away from the scrutiny of the rest of the team, and it might be easier for you to talk through it there—where it's just the two of us—although, you can ask Parker to come too, if you'd like her support.”

 

“No. I don't want anyone else to know.”

 

“All right. We'll go after dinner with the team.” Reaching out, he slapped the hacker gently on the side of the shoulder. Then he continued, “After what Parker did for you while you were underground, she deserves to see this through with you, but I'll leave it up to you whether you have her come with us or not. Either way, you'll need to talk to her. I'm not gonna do it.”

 

(0o0)

 

Eliot waited until supper was over, the dishes were done, and everyone else had started clearing out of Nate's apartment. If any of them had wondered why dinner was served early this evening, no one questioned it. Nate had some work to do after dinner, for one of their upcoming cases, and Sophie had moved off into another part of the room with him. Parker was flipping through the channels on the television, so bored she was contemplating practicing some jumps up on the roof, or else finding another building to use for practice. Eliot put a hand on Hardison's shoulder, and when Hardison looked at him, he quietly indicated it was time to go. Hardison swallowed hard, and then moved over to Parker.   He tried, but he couldn't make any words come out. Eliot didn't miss the helpless look on the man's face. The hacker had clearly changed his mind about having Parker come with them, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her. Smiling slightly and biting back a laugh that threatened to erupt, he moved over next to the two and looked at Parker.

 

“Hardison and I are going to hang out at my place. Wanna come?”

Boredom forgotten, Parker bounced up and down slightly, and nodded enthusiastically.  Jerking his head slightly to the side, Eliot motioned for them to follow him. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hardison rose and followed Eliot out, with Parker on his heels. They piled into Eliot's charger, and as he sped off, Parker got a strange look on her face.

 

“Don't you live in the other direction?” She and various other members of the team had stopped by Eliot's place in the past, usually to check on him after a particularly trying job, if he was injured.

 

“Nope,” he said, smiling. “If you're referring to the apartment, I stay there when I need to be close to the offices for whatever reason. Tonight, I'm gonna show you where I live.” Hardison and Parker both realized the significance of what he'd said. They had been invited to a place few people ever saw, and the fact that this meant Eliot trusted them in a way he hadn't shown before wasn't lost on either of them. They both silently vowed not to do anything to violate that trust.

 

When they arrived, Eliot ushered them both inside, and had them wait just inside the door as he did his normal security sweep, ensuring that everything was the way he had left it, and there were no surprises.  Parker and Hardison had seen him do this at the offices often enough that they weren't even surprised. It was just a part of who he was, and the paranoia that plagued him as a product of his past life.  When he was satisfied, he walked back to the door and collected them, welcoming them into his home.

 

Parker looked around curiously. The living room was warm and inviting, decorated in rusts, golds, and browns, with solid, overstuffed, leather furniture, and pictures of horses on the walls. The room was comfortable, distinctly masculine, but well appointed. Eliot moved further into the room, and said, “Come in. Sit down.”

 

When they had done so, Eliot looked at Hardison and said, “Do you want to tell her, or do you want me to do so?”

 

“I will.” Hardison cleared his throat, and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn't make the words come.

 

“Come on, man. She deserves to know.” Hardison nodded, and made a small sound in the back of his throat, but still couldn't get the words out. Finally, he said, in a shaky voice, “Go-go a-head and tell her.”

 

Eliot speared Parker with an intense gaze. She merely looked back, a bit confused. “Hardison's been having nightmares about the time he spent in that casket. I believe the nightmares are a result of PTSD.  I brought him here to help him deal with them. I wanted you to come along for moral support, and also because I need a sparring partner for some things I want to teach him. The training room here is larger than the one in Nate's apartment. More room for all of us.”

 

Parker nodded, biting her lip thoughtfully, but she didn't speak. Instead, she reached out and took Hardison's hand, pulling him over next to her and squeezing gently. His knees gave way, and he sank down into the couch cushions next to her, as though he no longer had the strength to stand up. She stroked his hand gently.

 

After a moment, Eliot shook himself, and said, “Before we get started, I want to talk with you about what we're going to do here. I have a confession to make.” He took a deep breath. “I told you I planned to touch base with some friends to get some advice on the best way to handle this.”

Hardison nodded. He didn't like the idea of someone else knowing, but he understood why Eliot wanted and even needed a second opinion on how to help him. “I called Doc Carrington.”

Eliot saw the look on Hardison's face and said, “She's the one who helped me, Hardison. This sort of thing is her specialty. That tea—that was her recipe.”

 

“Wh-what did she tell you?”

  
“We talked over the treatment strategies that are currently proving most effective. She told me about some new ones. There are two newer ones which are especially promising—lucid dreaming and imagery rehearsal therapy. Hardison, if we do either of those, I'm gonna ask her to come and do them with you.”

 

“Why can't you do it?”

 

“I can do a lot of things, Hardison, but I'm not a doctor. These are still largely experimental therapies, so I think it'd be best if you were under the care of a physician for them. We'll do what we can first, and if we can treat it without the new therapies, we will.”

 

Hardison nodded, unable to meet the other man's eyes. Parker squeezed his hand a little bit harder.

 

Eliot stood and held a hand out to the hacker. “Come on.” Hardison took it, and let Eliot pull him to his feet. The hitter led his friend to the kitchen, and started opening and closing cabinets, removing ingredients and placing them on the counter. Parker lagged behind, and seated herself on a stool at Eliot's bar.

 

“What are you doing, Eliot?” Hardison asked.

 

“You need to learn to make the tea, Hardison. I may not always be with you when this happens, and you need to be able to handle it yourself.” The hacker nodded. Eliot spoke again. “Come over here and pay attention. There's gonna be a quiz at the end,” Eliot growled, biting back a smile. Under Eliot's direction, Hardison chopped leaves and herbs, mixed them together, and put the mixture in a suede drawstring pouch. He pulled the string to draw the top of the bag closed, put the bag with his belongings, and then took out the pocket sized notebook he carried with him at all times, and wrote down the quantities of each, and how to prepare them.

 

“Well done, Hardison,” Eliot said quietly, feeling a surge of pride as he inspected the younger man's work.

 

When they were finished, Eliot led them both into the training room, and put them through a very intense training session. Hardison found himself grateful that Eliot had him spar with Parker. When the session was over, Hardison's muscles were already starting to stiffen so that he could barely move, and he was relieved when Eliot sent him off to take a shower, with instructions to meditate when he got out.  Hardison climbed in the shower and just stood, enjoying the steam and letting the hot water start to relax his sore muscles. He lathered himself with soap, and washed his hair, then rinsed and climbed out, wrapping himself in a towel. He moved out into the spare bedroom, which Eliot had turned into his training room and which was now deserted, to find a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie laid out on the sofa that stood against one wall.

 

Eliot was shorter than the hacker, and a bit smaller, so Hardison wondered if the clothes would fit, but Eliot had clearly left them there for him, so he must have thought they would. The hacker locked the trainng room door, then dropped his towel and quickly dressed. Mpments later, he moved out into the living area of the house, looking for Eliot and Parker. “Parker?” he called. “Eliot?”

 

“In here, Hardison,” they answered in unison. He followed the voices to a door that was cracked just a little, and pushing it open, walked inside. Hardison found himself in a sort of office. A massive cherry desk sat against one wall, and the air was a strange combination of wood polish, old books, outdoors, and sunshine—a smell Hardison only just now realized that he associated with Eliot.

 

Eliot was sitting behind the desk, sorting a stack of envelopes in front of him, and holding an easy conversation with Parker while he worked. He looked appraisingly at Hardison for a moment before asking, “Ready to continue?”

 

Hardison gave a single nod, and Eliot rose, opening a drawer in the desk and depositing the envelopes inside. “Have a seat,” said the hitter, stacking two blue file folders one on top of the other, and placing them in another drawer. As the hacker started to sit in the chair next to Parker, Eliot said, “No. Come around here.” Puzzled, Hardison moved around the desk, and Eliot took a step back and to the side, careful not to crowd the younger man.

 

Placing an arm around the younger man's neck, Eliot guided him to the leather desk chair and motioned for him to sit in it. Then, the hitter placed two sheets of notebook paper and a cup of pens in front of Hardison. Hardison shot him a confused look.

 

“I want to try something else. Clearly, you're having trouble talking through the nightmares, so Doc and I talked about it, and we agreed, it might be easier for you to write it down.”

 

“On paper? I write on a computer.”

 

Eliot shook his head. “In this case, it may be easier for you to do it on paper. It has something to do with the connection between your hand and your brain, and that isn't the same when you type on a computer. Besides, the temptation to edit while you type is greater than the temptation to edit while you write, and Doc says we're more honest when we write on paper. This is an exercise where you should write everything you feel. In fact, you shouldn't stop writing, even if you feel like you are writing garbage, until you get it all down, or as much of it as you can.” Noticing the dubious look on Hardison's face, Eliot said, “Humor me. Just try, yeah?”

 

Hardison nodded, and Eliot said, “We'll leave you alone so you can concentrate. Don't over think this. Don't allow yourself to wad up the paper and start again—just keep writing, no matter what. That's the way this works best.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Eliot steered Parker out of the room. Hardison sat staring at the paper in front of him, and he felt it was mocking him. He took a pen out of the cup and twisted it so that the tip was out. When he put it to the paper, nothing happened. There were so many thoughts running through his head all at the same time that he couldn't write any of them down for fear they'd end up in a hopeless jumble. Feeling like he was on a boat, he fancied himself caught in a maelstrom of consciousness, tossed about by the violent winds of his thoughts and ambushed by language. He almost wished for a machine that could read his thoughts and record what he was thinking, as he was thinking it, just by reading his brainwaves. He almost wanted to hyperventilate, as overwhelmed as he was with the power of his emotions. He had promised Eliot he would try, but he was starting to wonder how he was going to do this. Then, Parker's voice sounded in his head, and he pictured her stroking his hand, and in that image, he found an anchor—a place to start. Slowly, painfully, he wrote as much of it as he could down—as much as he could remember. As much as he could straighten out. As he wrote, it was as though a poisonous substance was being leached from his body, and when he was finished, he felt a little better. He didn't have the energy to read back over what he had written, and therefore, he didn't know if it was what Eliot wanted or not, but it would have to do. He had literally given it all he had.


	5. Chapter 5

Hardison was taking an afternoon nap in Eliot's guest bedroom, and Parker was outside, exploring the land around Eliot's home. Eliot massaged his forehead as he sat down at the desk. He picked up the sheets of paper Hardison had written, and started reading. The hacker had filled the two sheets of paper, front and back, but Eliot frowned as he realized the younger man hadn't really said anything in what he had written. He was going to have to have a serious discussion with the hacker when he woke up. After a moment, he set the papers aside, still lost in thought, and started dealing with some of the other work he had waiting for him there.

 

Eliot was engrossed in reading through one of the two blue files he had placed in the drawer earlier. It was a matter a friend had asked him to look into. He didn't really think it was going to be something with which the team should get involved, but it might be something he did on his own time—a solo job.

 

As he was reading, he heard a scream, and his senses were instantly on the alert. He moved over to the window and used two fingers to sweep the curtains aside, and looked out across the yard. About that time, Parker knocked lightly on the open door to Eliot's office, and he turned around.

 

“I heard someone screaming, and it sounded like it was coming from in here, so I wanted to be sure everybody was all right.” Eliot and Parker exchanged glances and ran down the hall to the guest bedroom. They found Hardison tossing and turning, flailing around.

 

“Hardison,” Parker said, moving toward his bed. Eliot put a hand out to stop her.

 

“Don't get too close. He might hurt you.”

 

“Are you going to wake him up?”

 

“I'm going to try. Stay back.” Hardison was screaming and flailing.

 

Waiting for his opening, Eliot reached out and took both of Hardison's flailing arms in one of his, and held them away from himself. He stepped to the side as Hardison instinctively tried to headbutt.

“Hardison!” he growled. “Wake up. Hardison!”

 

Hardison abruptly cut off mid-scream, and slowly opened his eyes. He let out an explosive breath as he got his bearings, and looked around the room, wide eyed. Eliot released his hands and said, sympathetically, “Wanna talk about it?”

 

Hardison glanced at Parker and shook his head, looking a little bit betrayed. “The-the tea didn't work.”

 

“Well, it's not foolproof. It works most of the time. That's the reason we need to work out the root causes. I guess we could get you back to the office and let Nate hypnotise you—see if you can talk about it that way.” Hardison looked at him and shook his head. Eliot looked him in the eyes, and continued. “As far as I can see, you've got three choices—you talk about it with me, you let Nate hypnotize you, or you talk to somebody like Doc about it. The talk therapy doesn't seem to be working, so it might be time to explore some other options.” He saw the look on Hardison's face and said, “I'm just sayin'.”

 

“I think I'd rather live with the nightmares.” He paused for a moment, thinking hard, and then said, “Can't we try one more time, Eliot?”

 

“These things don't happen overnight, so yeah, we have some time. If you plan to work with the team, though, it's best to get you back on your feet as quickly as we can.”

 

Hardison nodded. He gripped Parker's hand tightly, and she squeezed to let him know she was right there. Eliot spoke quietly, “Are you ready to try to talk it through again?”

 

Hardison nodded, but he didn't look sure at all. Parker let go of his hand, and Hardison's face fell. If she  left, he didn't think he had the strength to go through this one more time. Parker moved out of his line of sight, and his stomach sank. _Was she leaving him to do this alone?_

 

A moment later, Hardison felt small hands on his shoulders and a voice in his ear whispered, “Close your eyes”.  He did so, and her small hands started rubbing his neck and back. Slender fingers rubbed the sides of his head, and he felt himself starting to relax.

 

Eliot spoke in a commanding tone and said, “Tell me.”

 

 _“_ I woke up in total darkness, to the ringing of the phone. Then I heard Javier's voice. I asked him where I was, and he told me to see for myself, and then he told me to call Nate and have him bring those identities and put them under home plate at the ballpark. He said if I was still alive after, we'd talk about getting me out of there. The walls immediately started closing in on me, and I couldn't breathe. I started sweating and hyperventilating.” Hardison's eyes opened and he broke off, and looked like he was having trouble breathing, just thinking about the ordeal. Eliot reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

 

“I-I'm sorry. I can't tell you any more.”

 

“Well, you told me more this time than you ever have before, and you did it after having a nightmare. We'll keep trying.” He looked at Parker. “Will you take Hardison into the gym and let him practice the techniques we taught him? Spar with him some?”

 

Parker's eyes narrowed. “Sure, but what are you going to do?”

 

“Me? I'm gonna get ready for the next part of this.” He looked at Hardison. “Doc wants to take a look at what you wrote. She asked me to fax her the sheets.”

 

Hardison shrank into himself a bit. “Do you have to?”

 

Eliot gazed at him for a moment, and then said, “Unless you want her to show up here to see for herself, yes.”

 

“Why would she do that? I'm not a member of her team.”

 

“No, but I am, and when Doc agrees to help with a medical issue, it's with the understanding that things are done the way she wants them done. She's very good at what she does, and very thorough.”

 

“Couldn't you just thank her for her help and tell her you've got it from here?”

“No. For two reasons,” Eliot paused, considering what he wanted to say. “First, Doc does nothing halfway. She's busy with cases right now, so she's content to advise me, and allow me to work with you on this—especially since she knows that's what you prefer, and she knows she trained me, so I'll do it the right way. I don't want to give her a reason to change her mind, and decide to come and do this herself. Second, when she agrees to help, she doesn't stop until the job is done. I knew that when I asked her for help. She would be highly affronted if I asked for help and then didn't take it. If that happens, we can forget ever asking her or any of my other military buddies for help with anything, ever  again.”

 

Hardison nodded, still not sure he liked it, and allowed a rather bouncy Parker to pull him to his feet, and lead him into Eliot's guest bedroom-turned-training-room. When Eliot was alone, he ran his phone scanner over the two sheets of paper on his desk and emailed them to Doc. Then he rose and walked over to the bookshelves, looking for a particular book to aid his research. When he found the one he was looking for, he moved back over to the desk and sat down in the fine leather office chair. He turned to a particular page and started reading. Then, he accessed the data on his phone, and typed some specific search terms into the search engine Hardison favored. While certainly not an expert, Eliot knew a bit more about computers than he let on, but he knew Hardison enjoyed showing him things, and it helped him keep up the facade that made people underestimate him.

 

Ten minutes after he started reading, he heard a phone ringing. Glancing down at the phone on his desk, he was momentarily confused because it wasn't ringing. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the second phone he carried—the one the team didn't know about. He slid a finger over it to unlock it, but by the time he went to answer it, it stopped ringing. He looked at the missed call. Doc. He dialed her number and waited.

 

“Well,” she said dryly, “I was beginning to think you didn't want to talk to me.” Her voice contained overtones of both amusement and irritation, in equal measure, as well as something else—something a bit harder to read.

 

“Me? Never.” He waited, but she didn't tell him what was on her mind. Finally, he said, “Doc, what's up?”

 

“How's Hardison?”

 

“As well as can be expected, Kat.”

 

“Did you read the papers you sent me?”

 

“I did. I plan to discuss them with him. He didn't say much of anything, and that isn't going to help him.”

 

“All right. Good. What are your next steps?”

 

“I was thinking hypnosis. See if that helps. And then, if that doesn't work, one of the other therapies we discussed.”

 

“Okay. That sounds like a plan.  And Eliot--?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you have someone in mind to do the hypnosis or do you need me to recommend someone?”

 

“I have an idea of someone who can do it.”

 

“Keep me posted.” She paused for a moment, and then said, “I'm serious, Eliot. No more than twenty four hours.”

 

“Will do.” With that, Doc disconnected the call, and Eliot immediately scrolled to a contact on the phone he carried for Hardison, and sent a text.


	6. Chapter 6

Parker was sitting on the floor in Eliot's training room, catching her breath. She had retrieved a bottle of water from the small fridge he kept against one wall, and was trying to resist the urge to chug it. She knew what the consequences would likely be if she did that before she had cooled down properly. Hardison was showering, and she was thinking about him and about the reason they were here, at Eliot's home. Parker knew Hardison was getting frustrated by the fact that he couldn't seem to tell the whole story of his time in the coffin, and she knew he was terrified that he would lose face in Eliot's eyes. He was also petrified at the idea of being hypnotized again, by anyone. She agreed with Eliot, though. This was what he needed. They couldn't stay here forever. She was already getting antsy at being away from the rest of the team, away from her familiar things, and away from the places that made her feel safe, and she knew that he wanted things to be back to normal, too—wanted to work with the team again. For as much as he complained about the rest of the team not appreciating his efforts on jobs, she knew he wouldn't trade doing it, or doing it with them, for anything.

 

A moment later, Parker felt something brush her arm, and she looked over to find Hardison sitting next to her, still vigorously rubbing his head with a towel. The scent of his aftershave was powerful and comfortable, and she breathed it in deeply, a small smile spreading across her face as she did so.

 

“Are you okay, Parker?”

 

Pulling herself out of her reverie, she said, “Oh yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

 

“You've been staring off into space for the past five minutes. That's not like you.”

 

“I'm just thinking.” She gave him a small smile. “But I should be asking you that question. How are you feeling?”

 

“I'm okay,” he said, and then, in a barely audible voice, continued, “I just don't want to do this anymore.”

 

Parker could barely hear him, but she had been taught to listen to layers of sounds—to hear the soft sounds that often happened under other sounds—that was how a thief survived. So, she was pretty sure she caught what he said. She slipped her hand into his, and leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him with steady blue eyes.

 

He knew he had to finish this, and he expected her to tell him that. So he was rather surprised when she asked instead, “So what happens if you don't?”

 

His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“What happens if you don't do it anymore?”

 

He thought for a moment. “Well, I'd start having the nightmares again, I guess.”

 

“And could you live with that?”

 

“Maybe, but definitely not if they get worse. Besides, do you think Eliot would really let me quit? And as if that's not bad enough, Doc would probably track me down and take me away from here, and force me to finish it. Then I'd be doing this alone. Eliot said she wouldn't let it go. Besides, I won't be able to work with the team anymore, either. If Nate finds out, he won't want me working with the team until the problem is sorted. I'd be a liability.”

 

“Could you live with that?” she asked in a whisper.

 

“No.”

 

“Then there's no choice. You have to go out there. I'll be right beside you. We'll do it together.” She squeezed the hand she was still holding firmly, and then rose, pulling him to his feet.

 

Hardison allowed Parker to lead him out of Eliot's training room and back into the office, which, surprisingly, was empty. As they stood, trying to figure out where Eliot might be, Parker thought she heard voices down the hallway. She felt Hardison grow tense beside her, and she squeezed his hand tightly.

 

“Eliot?” she called out.

 

“In here,” came a gravelly voice from a room down the hall. The young couple came to a stop in front of a room, the door of which had been left slightly ajar for them, and Parker was surprised at the resistance she encountered, as Hardison tried to back away. He stopped at a nudge from her, and she gazed at him, no trace of judgement on her face. She didn't utter a word, just stood very still and quiet, waiting until he was ready. Trying and failing to hide the lump in his throat, he stood there a moment longer than necessary, gazing back at her. Finally, he gave a slight nod, and they pushed the door open the rest of the way together and walked into the room.

 

Eliot sat in one of the comfortable, overstuffed, chocolate colored leather armchairs in his living room, and Nate and Sophie sat on the loveseat across from him. Hardison couldn't help himself. When he saw Nate sitting there, he turned his back on the room, and stood breathing heavy. A moment later, he disappeared down the hall.

 

Fire blazed in Parker's eyes as she rounded on Eliot. In a tone so controlled it would seem flat to those who didn't know her better, she said, “You go talk to Hardison. I want to talk to Nate.” Eliot didn't argue. Instead, he rose and left the room. When he was gone, she looked at Sophie and said, “I need to talk to Nate alone. Please wait for us outside.”  Sophie wasn't really surprised that Parker wanted to talk to Nate alone. She was mildly surprised that the young woman had taken charge of the situation so completely, and was unceremoniously kicking her out of the room. Still reeling from a side of Parker she had never seen, she slowly rose and made her way to the door. Stopping when she got there, she turned to stare at the room at large for a few moments, clearly wanting to say something. Apparently, she decided against it because she left without saying another word, closing the door softly behind her.

 

Parker watched Sophie leave, and as soon as the door clicked closed behind her, she rounded on Nate. She had that slightly crazy look in her eye that defined their first encounters, both on the team and before it had formed.  Though she was only standing over him and hadn't made any threatening moves so far, he nonetheless felt that she had pinned him to the sofa, and he swallowed hard, realizing not for the first time exactly how dangerous the young thief actually was. He had been on the verge of asking if he and Parker were okay, but something in her eyes stopped him, warned him not to speak. With effort, he bit back the words and returned the steady gaze, waiting for her to speak. She stared at him for another moment without speaking, her steady gaze never wavering, and succeeded in making Nate more and more nervous. Without preamble, she said, “The last time you hypnotized Hardison, he got really freaked out about it because you didn't tell him until afterwards, and because he felt like you were treating him like a mark. It has taken him a long time to come to terms with what you did, Nate, but he has forgiven you. In my opinion, Hardison forgives too easily. He's too trusting.  Now, he knows he has to be hypnotized again, and all those old feelings from that night are coming back, plus his embarrassment at how he is reacting to what has happened to him, and his worry that you'll think he doesn't trust you if he shows that he's having a problem with all of this. He went through enough  when he got shoved in that box. So, I want to be very clear about something. If you do anything to feed those insecurities, or anything at all that isn't necessary to his treatment, you'll have ME to answer to, and I promise I'm nowhere near as trusting as he is, nor as forgiving.”

 

“Do you really think I'd do anything to harm a member of my team?”

 

“Not intentionally. And not when you're sober. But, like it or not, you did hurt him, both with the hypnosis and the job at the funeral home. I won't let you hurt him again.” Her eyes held a challenge now—a challenge and a warning. _Be the Nate Ford we all came back for. Be that man. For Hardison. For me. If you don't, well…_

He resisted the urge to pat her arm, unsure of how the action would be received by this version of Parker, and worked instead on swallowing the lump in his throat. Speaking around something that large would be difficult. When he was sure he could speak, he did so. “I told you all before I was arrested that you are like family to me. In all of this, that was the one thing I didn't expect. You have my word. I won't harm him.”

 

“Okay.” Vestiges of the crazy smile were still there, but they faded fast, replaced by a genuine smile. When he was sure no one was watching, he breathed a sigh of relief.


	7. Chapter 7

Eliot caught up with Hardison in the hallway, and steered the young man into the room he used as both library and office, closing and locking the door behind them. Guiding the younger man to a chair, he didn't miss the way Hardison grasped the arms of said chair when he sat, as though they were a lifeline.   Moving over behind his desk, Eliot reached into one of the cabinets behind him and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of something. He opened the bottle and poured two fingers of an amber liquid into each glass, and then slid one across the desk to Hardison.

 

Hardison tossed the drink back, ignoring the fire in his throat, and set the glass on the table harder than he meant to do so. Still watching him, Eliot reached out and refilled the glass. He tossed it back once more, and Eliot refilled it again. This time, Eliot only refilled the glass halfway. While he could sympathize with the younger man not wanting to be entirely sober when he did this, he also knew that being drunk during something like this often caused more problems than it solved.

 

He needn't have worried. Hardison didn't even touch the third glass. There was a moment's silence, then they spoke at the same time.

 

“Why did you call Nate?” Hardison asked, at the same time Eliot said, “Talk to me, Hardison.” They fell silent at the same time, and then Eliot tried again.

 

“Talk to me, Hardison. What's going on?”

 

“Why does it have to be Nate?” Eliot heard the embarrassment in the other man's voice, and the insecurity. He gazed appraisingly at Hardison for a moment, and then spoke softly, asking, “Who would you rather it be? Doc? Someone you don't know?”

 

He shook his head. “No. I'd rather not have to do it at all.”

 

“I know, but I can tell you from experience that you don't want to live with the nightmares either.”'

 

“No, but Nate? Man, he hypnotized me without even telling me.”

 

“And if he had never told you afterwards, what would you be thinking right now?”

 

“I don't know. I guess I would think it was just me—that I remembered how to play. I'd like to think that I would know something was off with that—I mean, how many people remember how to play the violin ten years later, without a day of practice in the interim? But, with no reason to think otherwise...”

 

“And if Nate had told you before the concert, how do you think it would've affected your performance?”

 

Hardison didn't answer, and Eliot knew he was thinking about the question. _As much as he didn't want to, Hardison had to admit that knowing he had been hypnotized, he would probably have become over confident about his performance. He wouldn't have been nervous at all, and some amount of nervousness was necessary to ensure a good performance. Hell, he probably wouldn't even have halfway tried to play, knowing it was a sure thing._ Then another thought occurred to him. _Was it his fault that Nate had chosen to hypnotize him? As the mastermind, it was Nate's job to know his team, including their flaws. Eliot kept telling him that he went too big when he tried to grift. Nate had told him once, not in so many words, that the bravado he projected during jobs for the team, the same thing that led to the overconfidence that made him oversell his grifter bits, was a character flaw that might one day result in the death of his team, or at least put them all in danger, as it had done on at least one occasion so far. That bravado was an attempt on his part to cover a deeply seated insecurity—a feeling of inadequacy that had plagued him since the team was formed—that he would never be good enough to belong to this team._ Now, for the first time, it occurred to him that Nate might have known that, and seen the need to ensure the success of the job, by making sure his hacker could do what was asked of him, without embarrassing himself or the team or blowing their covers. When he thought about it that way, he could understand why the mastermind did what he did, and he couldn't really bring himself to be angry with him or hurt. Hardison hadn't understood until now what Nate had meant when he had said it was his job, as the mastermind, to push whatever buttons he needed to push to get his team to do what needed to be done. Maybe he had been a bit off base when he told Nate that hypnosis was what one did to a mark, not to a member of their own team. This would require further thought, and maybe even an apology. He wasn't inclined to say any of that to Eliot, though he knew it was probably written all over his face, so he simply said, “Oh.”

 

“Come on, man. Nate uses things and people as he has to, to get the job done. You know that. He's a lot like Vance in that respect. That doesn't mean he can't be trusted, to a degree, at least. He knows you're hurting and he wants to help, and unless you want Doc to do it, I don't know anybody else to ask. Besides, there's something else different about this time as opposed to last time.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“Parker and I. We'll be right there. I've already spoken to Nate, and unless I'm very much mistaken, Parker is speaking to him right now, making our expectations of his behavior clear to him.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. Now come on, let's get this over with, huh?” At Hardison's nod, Eliot rose and moved back around his desk, holding out a hand to Hardison and pulling him to his feet. The hand Eliot used to help Hardison stand then snaked up around the younger man's neck, and Eliot guided him back down the hall toward the living room. When they reached the door, Hardison stopped before going in, and looked at Eliot desperately.

 

“What is it, Hardison?”

 

“Does everyone have to be there while this is going on?”  he asked, in a small voice. “The whole team?”  


“No. All anyone wants is to support you, but if you don't want us there, all you need to do is say so.”

 

“You've been through this before. I'd like you there. But not Parker or Sophie. I don't want them to hear this. Wi-will y-you tell them?”

 

Eliot put a hand on Hardison's shoulder. “I'll take care of it.” With that, Eliot pushed the door to the living room open, and escorted Hardison inside. He led him over to the sofa and sat him down next to Parker, seating himself on the man's other side. Looking around the room, he said, “Parker, Sophie, may I see you in the hallway?” The two women rose and accompanied him out there, waiting expectantly for him to begin. He took a deep breath. “I don't think Hardison will want an audience while this is going on. He's asked me to sit in because this whole thing has him pretty rattled, and he knows I've been through it before.” Eliot paused, looking to see how they would react to the news. They seemed okay. “He'll need your help for the next part of this.”

 

“Where do you want us to wait?” Parker asked with a sigh.

 

“Actually, I was sort of thinking you might rather get away for awhile. I know you've been cooped up here longer than you usually allow yourself to stay in one place. Maybe you and Sophie could go shopping for a while, or go to a movie—just get away for a bit—and since no one's probably gonna wanna cook when this is over, you might bring dinner back for the rest of us.”

 

“All right.  We'll see you in…,” Sophie paused and looked at her watch, then interrupted herself to ask another question, “Do you think two hours is long enough?”

 

“You should probably make it three.”

 

“All right. We'll see you in three hours then.” Sophie steered Parker out the door, not giving the young blonde much of a chance to protest, thoughts of shopping on her mind.

 

Eliot saw the girls safely out of his home and down the road until they disappeared out of sight, then he turned and made his way back into his living room, where he took a seat in the chair next to Nate's, across from Hardison, who sat on the sofa. He walked in soundlessly, unsure of where they'd be in the process, and was mildly surprised to find they hadn't started yet. Instead, they seemed to be having a staring contest.

 

“Are we ready to begin?” Eliot asked quietly, and at the sound of his voice, they each seemed to come back to themselves. Nate nodded once, in answer to Eliot's question, while Hardison swallowed hard and remained silent, still staring at Nate. Nate cleared his throat.

 

“Before we get started, Hardison, I want to let you know that I would probably feel a little strange about this, too, if I was in your position. Maybe I made a mistake when I hypnotized you for a job, without telling you, but you are family, and I want to do what I can to help you now.” He broke off as he saw Hardison hold up a hand in a clear gesture that he wanted to say something.

 

“Forget it, Nate. I've recently started to rethink what you did and why, and I don't think you had a choice.  I trust you. It's okay. Let's just get this done.”

 

“All right. Close your eyes.” Nate's voice was soft and soothing, almost playful. “I'm going to count down from ten to one, and when I reach one, you'll be totally relaxed. Ten...relax. Nine..,you're relaxing a bit more. Eight...a bit more. Seven. Six...more. Five...more. Four. Three. When I reach one, you'll be so relaxed your body will go limp. Two.” He watched the younger man visibly relax as he spoke. “One...totally and completely relaxed.” The hacker's body went limp, and Eliot thought for a moment that he was going to fall out of his chair, but he didn't.

 

“Now, I want you to remember back to the day you were placed in the coffin by Javier. You will view it as you would a film, seeing every item in detail. You will be able to zoom in on any part of the scene you wish to examine more closely, but none of it can hurt you. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

“Good. Now I want you to describe the scene to me. Start with the time before, when you are in Darlene's office.”

 

“We were standing in Darlene's office, and she showed us the money. I saw one of her sons, Emory, I think, getting the last of the money out of the fireplace, where they had hidden it, and then she placed it in a blue duffel bag and asked us for the names. We were in the process of exchanging names for money when Javier showed up. He told Darlene he didn't plan to pay for the names. When he pulled a gun, she and her sons ran away with the list. Javier asked us for another copy of the list, and said he would take some collateral to ensure we came back. I didn't know what he meant by collateral. Then, a phone rang. When I opened my eyes, it was to total darkness.  I must've been asleep because it woke me up. I heard Javier's voice on the other end of the line, and I asked him where I was. He told me to see for myself. I used the phone's light to look around, and realized I was in a coffin. The walls started closing in around me, and it got really hot, and I couldn't breathe.” Hardison's voice was starting to grow panicked. He sounded like he was going to hyperventilate.

 

“No. Noooooooo,” he screamed. Hardison's face was red, and his breathing was shallow. It continued to grow more shallow. Eliot reached out and put two fingers on his wrist, counting out his pulse. It was racing. Eliot knew if this continued, the young man would start to hyperventilate. He debated calling it off then and there, and trying something else. _If reliving the experience is THAT traumatic for the young man, maybe it isn't a good idea to force the issue._ Suddenly, Hardison leaned forward and vomited all over the floor in front of his chair.

 

Eliot glanced at Nate, and Nate glanced back. They were making more progress than they had before, and neither man wanted to stop, but they wondered if the benefit of this was worth the cost of remembering for their friend.

 

“I don't want to DIE,” Hardison screamed, staring at something neither of them could see, then he sank back in his chair and went limp. A moment later, he opened his eyes, and a look of confusion crossed his face.

 

“Nate? Eliot? Where are we?'

 

“We're in my living room, Hardison,” Eliot said carefully, moving around to sit next to his friend, and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What do you remember?”

 

Hardison ducked his head in embarrassment and said, “I just had the worst dream. I was back in that coffin, still buried underground, and I was sure I was going to die.” Hardison knew that Eliot wasn't an overly affectionate person, and he felt like a child for taking comfort in the hand the other man rested on his shoulder, but he couldn't help it.

 

Eliot and Nate exchanged glances, and Hardison said, “It wasn't a dream. I was being...hypnotized.” He turned his head, looking anywhere but at the two men in the room with him. He wondered if he closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough, if he might be able to actually wish himself onto some tropical island somewhere, with a cold drink and a hot girl, preferably Parker, sitting next to him. Deciding to try it, he closed his eyes, and wished with all his might. A moment later, when he opened his eyes, he was unsurprised but slightly disappointed to find himself still in Eliot's living room.

 

Eliot and Nate were both watching him carefully. “We didn't finish. Can you tell me what happened after you found out you were in the coffin?”

Hardison shook his head. “You know the rest, anyway.”

 

“I'd like to hear it from your perspective.”  


“I can't,'' he said emphatically, eyes still haunted.

 

“You can --” Nate started, but Eliot silenced him with a look.

 

“How are you feeling?” Eliot asked quietly.

 

“I don't know how to answer that.”

 

“Whether you believe it or not, we are making progress, Hardison. We'll sort this out.” He turned to Nate. “The girls should be back soon. It's almost dinnertime. There's plenty of room if you and Sophie would like to stay the night.”

 

Nate thought for a moment, and then nodded. It was good to have everyone back together again, after a while apart. “Thank you, Eliot.”

 

 “Did you bring it?” Eliot asked, and Nate nodded again. Turning back to Hardison, Eliot said, “I asked Nate to bring the laptop you keep at headquarters. I want you to spend some time in meditation, and then you can use the laptop until supper time. You need a break.”

 

Hardison nodded a silent thanks, and then said, “What's next, Eliot?”

 

“Let's just wait and see, okay?” Hardison nodded again, but he didn't look happy about not knowing. The truth was, Eliot hadn't decided what the next steps would be. With a few quick words of reassurance, Eliot sent his friend off to the training room to meditate and settled in to talk to Nate.


	8. Chapter 8

_Looking around quickly to be sure no one was watching, the black clad figure adjusted the long, somewhat awkward bag he wore on his back, and wrenched the heavy iron disk off of the hole in the middle of the street, taking care to set it aside without making any noise. Leaning forward slightly, he peered into the inky blackness that stretched out before him. The acrid stench of sewer hit him full force, and he fought to quell the lurch of his stomach. He leaned forward a bit further and bent down, forcing the smell into his lungs, assaulting his senses until he could function without a visible reaction._

_When he was sure his senses were under his usual iron clad control, he quickly lowered himself down into the large opening, his fingers finding purchase on a ladder. He climbed down until there were no metal rungs left, and then dropped, landing with a loud squelch on the floor of the pipe, ankle deep in sewer slime._

_Without stopping to think too much about what he was doing, he pulled a small object out of his pocket, broke the rubber band holding it, and used his gloved hands to stretch it out to its full size before he placed it carefully on his head, touching the button on the side that would turn it on as he did so. A bright light bounced off the walls and danced around him. Placing a hand on either side, he focused the light into a tighter beam, aimed directly in front of him. Propelling himself forward, and making a mental note to burn his clothes, his gloves, and his shoes when this was over, he crawled on his hands and knees in the direction of the target._

_Crawling for what seemed like an eternity, he stopped periodically to check his map, and soon discovered he had entered the tunnels a bit further from the target than he had intended. No matter. The sewer pipes that ran underneath the ancient city, met further down, in the center of the old part of town, and they all eventually ended up in the same place. He increased his pace, crawling as quickly as the squishy mess beneath him would allow, having no desire to remain in the sewer any longer than necessary._

_Moments later, the microphone in his ear crackled and then shrieked, unhappy at being in close proximity to another on the same frequency. He winced at the high pitched sound that hurt his ears, and then growled softly, “Is everybody in position?”_

_Receiving a chorus of quiet affirmatives, he sat back on his haunches, directly below his exit tunnel to the street above, and pulled the long bag around in front of him. Almost lovingly, he caressed the zipper, teasing it down, and down, and down some more—quietly and efficiently—until finally the bag lay open before him. Tilting his head downward, so that the light he wore on his forehead was positioned to allow him to see what he was doing, he pulled three metal pieces out of the bag, quickly fitting them together until he heard a slight click. Reaching into the bag once more, he fitted the night vision scope onto his rifle, holding his hand out in front to be sure he could see what he needed to see. Satisfied, he placed the strap back on his back, double checked to be sure there was nothing within the leather bag that could identify him, and stood up._

_He jumped as high as he could, and caught the bottom rung of the old metal ladder, holding himself and his equipment carefully to keep it from clanging against the metal and possibly giving away his position, though he was almost sure it couldn't be heard at street level. He wasn't willing to take chances, though, and he paused on the second rung and spoke quietly into the air in front of him, “We go on my signal!”_

_“Roger that,” the other four men on the team answered back. They were well trained. They would hold their positions until he was ready—until he gave the order for them to move._

_Reaching the top of the ladder, he was mildly surprised to see that the ladder ended just beneath a wooden trap door and not the man hole cover he expected to find. He turned off his light. Pushing the wooden door up as quietly as possible, he found himself in a low wooden building, with a dirt floor and a thatched roof. It might have been a house or a barn, it was too dark to tell. The sweet smell of hay filled his nostrils, and it was a welcome change from the sour smelling sewer in which he had just spent the last hour.  He whispered to the men on his team to move in and watch, but to wait for his signal to fire. In the distance, he saw a dim, yellow spot of light and started moving toward it._

_He walked and walked, and the spot of light never seemed to be getting any bigger or any closer. Then suddenly, it loomed large over him, and flecks of light hung suspended in the air for a moment, before falling gently down around him like soft, glowing snowflakes. One part of his brain, not reserved to the job before him, registered the beauty of the sight, knowing he would see it later and recognize it for what it was. With one quick, silent movement, he folded his body into a human tripod, resting his elbows on his knees, anchoring the gun that sat on his arms. He took careful aim, and when he was ready, he spoke once more, not bothering to be quiet this time. “Now!” he shouted, and as one, the sharp zipping sound of four silenced gunshots filled the air, and the four men in the room who were not his target fell to the ground with little fanfare. Dead._

_He saw the confusion in his target's eyes, just for a moment, as the man looked up and black eyes met blue ones. The man held a grenade he hadn't seen before. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and he felt rivulets of it run down his back. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the head of his target seemed to grow larger through his scope, and more sharply in focus. He gave his finger the order to squeeze the trigger, and as he felt himself complying, he saw his target pull the pin from the grenade and pull it back in one fluid motion. The target let go of the grenade as the trigger pulled all the way back, releasing its explosive charge. He could almost see the bullet as it cut a path through the air toward his target's head. His eyes were fixed on the grenade coming ever nearer, and he heard someone in the distance screaming. “NNNNOOOOOOOOO!”_

“NNNNOOOOOOOOO!” His eyes popped open and wet ringlets of hair hung in his face. He moved to straighten himself in his chair, and groaned as the stiff muscles refused to respond. Grasping the back of the chair as if he wasn't sure it was real, he forced himself to his feet, and when he caught his balance, moved to pour himself a drink, cursing as he found his hands were shaking.

 

He had mostly recovered himself when he heard a knock on the door, and he hurriedly sat back down in the chair, hoping he looked nonchalant. “Come,” he said. The door opened and Nate stuck his head in. A look of confusion crossed his face and he said, “Is everything okay, Eliot?”  Eliot nodded, still nursing the drink, and Nate continued. “I heard screaming. I thought it was Hardison, but he's still sound asleep. Then I realized it came from here.”

 

Eliot nodded again, and simply said, “Nightmare.” He met the mastermind's gaze and held it, and after a moment, Nate looked away.

 

Then, a moment later, the older man spoke up. “If you're sure you're okay, I'll go on back to bed.”

 

“I'm fine, Nate.” As the older man backed out of the room, he closed the door softly behind him. Eliot finished his drink and poured himself another. Forcing his voice to steadiness, he practiced what he planned to say for a moment. Then, when he was sure he was ready, with shaking hands, he drew his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, heedless of the fact that it was almost three o'clock in the morning. He listened as the phone rang six times, then went to voicemail. _You don't really expect any sane person to be up at this hour, do you? h_ e asked himself. When the message ended, and the phone beeped, he only said, “Call me back” and hung up.


	9. Chapter 9

As the first rays of the sun spilled over the tops of the trees on Eliot's property, he was putting the finishing touches on a breakfast that was fit for a king. Drying his wet hands with a dish towel, he pushed the button that would set the coffee to brewing, threw the towel down on the table, and slipped out the front door. His guests would be waking soon, and coming in for breakfast, and he wasn't ready to see any of them just yet. Not after last night. _Damn it._ He hadn't had a nightmare in quite a while, and had almost convinced himself that they might be gone for good. Maybe that's why this one affected him like it did.

 

He had thought that he was past the point of being embarrassed by the dreams—and by his reactions to them—especially considering that he had had far worse reactions in front of the person to whom he had been speaking at the time. Obviously, he was mistaken.

 

Eliot started walking with no real destination in mind, wanting to clear his mind, and find the control he  knew he was lacking. Walking gave way to jogging, which in turn gave way to running, and as he ran, faster and faster, Eliot's heart pounded in his chest and his thoughts beat a steady cadence in time with his heart.  He allowed himself to get lost in the precision of it, to concentrate on where the next footfall landed, on the rhythm and the discipline, until they consumed his thoughts, and allowed his mind to rest.

 

Two hours later, he found himself standing in front of his own front door. With his sniper stealth, he slipped in the front door and down the hall to his bedroom, where he stripped and climbed into the shower. Had he taken the time to notice, he'd have found the breakfast dishes cleared, washed, and on the drying rack, and he'd have found the team conspicuously absent. As it was, he hadn't taken the time to notice the dishes or the team's absence.

 

Roughly, he turned the water in the shower on as hot as it would go. Smiling grimly, he took a sort of perverse pleasure in the exquisite pain of the scalding hot water that ran over muscles wound too tight and in the bright red color his skin turned under the hot water assault. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was punishing himself—and for something that wasn't his fault, to boot—but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

 

A well of anger he had thought to be buried deeply welled up within him, and he viciously slammed the soap against his body, rubbing hard up and down, trying to work whatever this was within him out before he joined the team and faced their questions. None too gently, he lathered his hair, grimacing when he pulled the long strands, and then pulling them again several times more for good measure. Some part of him whispered that he shouldn't treat himself so, but he acknowledged to himself that on some level he felt he deserved it, and it was probably better than meeting his friends with this kind of anger still inside him.

 

Finally, his anger was mostly gone, and he turned the water off, but stood still, willing himself back to complete control before he climbed out. He winced as the rough terry fabric of the towel made contact with freshly burned and hot skin. Heedless of the fact that the few blisters he had formed from the hot water were bursting, he wrapped himself in the towel, and taking a smaller one from a cabinet, he rubbed his hair vigorously. When that was done, he dried himself and dressed hurriedly.  He walked back through the house, looking for the rest of the team. Mildly surprised that he didn't find them, he decided they must have all congregated in one of the rooms off the main hallway.   


“Nate? Parker? Hardison?”

 

“In here, Eliot,” he heard Hardison say. _Study!_ He moved that direction. Walking in, he found Hardison sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, while another familiar figure sat opposite him.

 

“Vance? What are you doing here?”

  
“I asked him to come,” answered a very feminine voice, as he heard the sound of a door closing behind him. Whirling around, he came face to face with Doc Carrington. He studied her warily.

 

“I believe I asked you to call me,” he said, quietly. She could tell he wasn't exactly happy she was there.

 

“Yes, you did,” she agreed, adding, “but you sounded rough on the phone, and when a friend of mine sounds like that, I make it a point to pay them a visit—see if I can help.” While she was talking, she had guided Eliot to the chair next to Hardison, and when he was seated, her hands and fingers started gently kneading the muscles of his neck and shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief when he began to relax just a bit.

 

“Where's the rest of the team, Hardison?” he asked, refusing to give in before he knew everyone was safe.

 

“They're back at headquarters. Nate said to tell you that he'll check in with you later.”  Eliot nodded.

 

Looking back at Doc, he said, “I'm all right, Kat.” She just raised an eyebrow and continued staring at him. A moment later, he spoke again. “So what's the plan, Doc?”

 

“Physical exam, individual chat, maybe, then a group chat together. Then we'll go from there. Okay?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Seeing the way she was looking at him, he held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay—you win.”

 

“I usually do.”

 

“Where do you want us?”

 

“I think I'll have Mister Hardison stay here with Colonel Vance for the moment, while we make use of your training room.” Eliot nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He followed her down the hall and into one of the back bedrooms, which he had turned into a treatment/training room.

 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Katherine Carrington spun around and caught Eliot in the kidneys with a spinning crescent kick. He moved to block, and she swept his feet, sending him sprawling on his back on the floor. He immediately jumped to his feet again.

 

“What the hell?” he asked, blocking blows and trying to dodge them at the same time. Any normal person wouldn't have been allowed this many blows, but Kat wasn't any normal person, she had learned at the same time and in the same place he had, which meant their skills were fairly evenly matched, and Eliot wasn't actually sure he could stop her. She had been his first and so far, his best sparring partner—well, besides Vance, that is. The confusion in his voice distracted her momentarily, and he took advantage of the distraction by tackling her to the ground. He tried to pin her, but a moment later, she flipped them both over, and sat on him. A moment after that, he flipped them over again, pinning her to the floor with his superior weight and strength. That didn't last long, though. After that, it was as though they had set off a chain reaction, flipping over and over again, across the length of the small room. The two finally ended up against a wall, with Eliot sitting on her. He grinned down at her and she responded by pushing him off and jumping to her feet.

 

This began a rather intense sparring session, at the end of which they both wound up collapsing to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. When Eliot was able, he rose, knowing that she couldn't get up until he did, as he was lying on her legs. He seated himself on one of the cots in the room. After he had caught his breath enough to speak, he said, “That was...that was...there are no words for what that was. I miss it.”

 

She smiled. “I thought you could use a distraction for a bit.” She rose and moved over to one wall, where she withdrew two bottles of water from his small fridge. Cracking the top on one, she took a long swallow, and handed the other bottle to Eliot. “And I wanted to remind you that you can't fool me, so you might as well talk to me, my friend.” With those words, she sat down on a small rolling stool right across from him, gazing intently at him, ready for what he would tell her.

 

Slowly, he began, still not sure how much he wanted to tell, nor how much he should tell. “I had a nightmare. Just one.”

 

Doc had leaned forward when he started speaking, listening intently. When he stopped speaking, she stayed where she was, waiting for him to finish, but he didn't.

 

“What was it about?”

 

“Sewer lines,” he grunted, trying and failing to be flippant. _She would know what that meant, she had heard the story before._

 

“Ah,” she said quietly. “What happened in these sewer lines?” She knew exactly what had happened, in vivid detail, having listened to the story from several of the people involved over the years, and from him, too, but she knew it was important for him to say it.

 

Shooting her a look of confused betrayal, he grunted again, and said, “You know the story.”

 

“Tell me again.” Seeing the look that crossed his face, she said, “You need to say it to take its power away.”

 

“We were in Yemen. Our orders were to kill the head of Al Quaida, and the four people directly under him, thus breaking the backbone of the movement. We spent over an hour belly crawling through sewer lines. I was in charge. It was my mission. We got in without being heard, eliminated our targets, and then crawled back out the way we came in, and swam out to meet our ride home. Very little went wrong with that mission.”

 

“So what's bothering you about it?”

 

“The dream itself.” His voice had a note of hopelessness in it when he looked at her. “I hadn't had a nightmare of that type in so long, I had let myself start to believe that they were finally over. Now I feel like I'm going crazy.”

 

She shot him a fierce look, and her voice was considerably sharper when she said, “You are NOT going crazy. You know the dreams may never completely go away. We've discussed that part in the past.”

 

“Why now, Kat?”

 

“I don't know for sure. I can only guess, but I think it has to do with the situation.” She could tell that he didn't fully understand, though if he gave himself time to think about it, he would. She continued.

“You are helping someone else through an experience you've had in the past. It's only natural that what you're doing would jog your memories of your own experience with this. Those memories manifest themselves in different ways for different people. I think you'll probably find this to be an isolated incident.”

 

“Ya think so?” he asked, so much like a small child asking if Santa was real, that she almost laughed, but she cut it off, as there was nothing funny about the work they were doing here, and nodded instead.

 

“I do,” she said. She gave him a moment to process that, and then said, “Take off your shirt.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me. I told you before we started this that I wanted to examine both of you, just to be sure there aren't any underlying issues that are making the nightmares worse.” When he still hadn't moved to comply after five seconds, she said, “Don't make me cut it off.”

 

Eliot pulled himself out of his reverie,  shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs gathered there, and hastened to unbutton his shirt. Slipping his arms out of the sleeves, he half rose from his seat and turned to drape the shirt over the back of his chair, then sat there in his tank top, watching her and waiting.

 

As she rooted around in her bag, looking for something, he spoke again. “You know, when you said we were coming back here for a physical exam, and then attacked me as soon as we came through the door, I was thinking that was my physical exam.”

 

“Really? Why were you thinking that?”

 

“Physically, it proves I'm as strong as ever.”

 

“I'll tell you what. Let me listen to your chest and lungs and give me a blood sample, and we'll call it even. Deal?” A physical exam wasn't strictly necessary for just the one nightmare, and the blood sample would likely tell her what she needed to know about underlying causes.

 

Eliot was mildly surprised by the offer. Doc was very thorough, and he really hadn't expected to get anywhere with her. He'd take what he could get. “Deal.”

 

“Don't get used to it,” she said, as she stretched his arm out before her.

 

“Of course not. I wouldn't dream of it.” He watched with fascination as she placed the needle, and his blood flowed into the vial. After a moment, he asked, “What about Hardison?”

“We'll see what the exam tells us, and then I'm thinking we'll end up with one of the new therapies. I'm hesitant to put him through what you've already tried. Are you up to doing his exam?” Eliot nodded.

 

Placing the bandage on his arm, she said, “Good. Get yourself dressed and let's go.”


	10. Chapter 10

Doc and Eliot walked back into Eliot's study, where Hardison and Vance were waiting for them, and Eliot saw, Hardison was watching them apprehensively. As soon as they came back into the room, Vance rose and made his way to the door.

 

“I'll be standing guard,” he said quietly, slapping Eliot on the shoulder as he passed him.

 

“I'll send for you when we are ready,” Doc told him. Vance nodded.

 

As soon as the door closed behind Vance, Doc sat down behind Eliot's desk, removing a file folder from her briefcase and making notes in it. Hardison relaxed a bit when he saw that she wasn't really paying attention to him. Eliot moved over next to him.

 

“Doc asked me to do your physical exam,” he said, opening Doc's bag and pulling out the supplies he needed.

 

“Why?”

 

Doc didn't look up from the file in which she was writing, but she said, “I was under the impression that you were more comfortable with Eliot. If that's a problem, I can do it.”

 

“No, that's okay.” His voice faltered, and it was then that Eliot realized how nervous the younger man was. “I just wondered.”

 

“Relax, man,” Eliot said, under his breath. Louder, he said, “Take off your shirt.”

 

When Hardison complied, he was visibly shaking. Eliot laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed gently. He knew the best thing he could do for Hardison right now was to get the exam over with as quickly as possible. Drawing on a pair of latex gloves, he placed the ends of the stethoscope in his ears, and placed the other end on Hardison's chest. The hacker's heartbeat was strong and his lungs were clear.

 

Doc closed the file in which she was writing, and exchanged it for another one in her briefcase. She opened the new file and sat reading silently for a moment, before she started writing. She was surreptitiously watching the men before her. Hardison looked like he wanted to throw up or cry, or maybe both. His reaction was far too severe for the circumstances. Eliot was trying his best to help his friend relax, but it didn't really seem to be helping. What was he so afraid of?”

 

“So, Kat, why did you bring Vance with you?” Eliot was getting ready to draw blood, and she remembered that Hardison was afraid of needles. The young man was listening intently. No doubt, that's why Eliot did it—to take Hardison's mind off of what he was doing.

 

“I asked him to come because I wanted his help. I think it's important in our group chat to show Mister Hardison here that he isn't alone.” She paused for a moment, not sure she really wanted to say what she was about to say, but it was the truth. She continued, “And he was concerned. We both were when we heard your message.”

 

“Wait, you let him hear my message?” Eliot said, and he couldn't keep the pique out of his voice. He withdrew the needle and bandaged Hardison's arm. A moment later, he had a blood-pressure cuff and a thermometer in place, and was pumping up the cuff.

 

“That's not exactly the way it happened. I was dealing with a medical emergency when the call came in, and was waiting to hear back from poison control. Vance had come in for a report, and when the phone beeped, we both thought it might be the Poison Control center calling me back. I asked him to play the message on speaker phone. And I don't know what you're so upset over—you didn't leave anything on my voice mail that no one else should hear. You know better.”'

 

“Sorry,” Eliot muttered, with a sidelong glance in her direction to gauge her emotional state. She didn't seem angry, just confused. She waved off the apology. Leaving the file folder where it was, she rose and moved over next to the two of them, as Eliot let the pressure out of the cuff.

 

“How's our Mister Hardison?”

 

“He seems fine, physically. You'll know more when you test his blood.”

 

She looked at Hardison, silently asking the same question. He had managed to pull himself together somewhat, it seemed. At least he wasn't shaking any more. Her eyes bored into him. Finally, he made eye contact with her and nodded that he was all right.

 

Nodding, she turned back to Eliot and said, “You'll need to list your findings on his chart. It's on your desk. While you do that, and Mister Hardison gets dressed, I'll see what his blood tells us.”

 

Doc had her back turned, looking at Hardison's blood sample through the microscope, and he dressed hurriedly, wanting to be finished when she turned back around. He had just pulled his tee shirt back over his head and let it fall to his waist, when she spoke without turning around.

 

“If you are finished dressing, will you step outside and let Colonel Vance know that he can come back in now?”

  
Hardison looked at her in disbelief, eyes wide. _How did she know?_ He thought. _She didn't even look at me._ Giving her an odd look, he stepped outside, and then back in a moment later, with Vance in tow. Eliot was standing at the door, and he nodded them down the hall and into his treatment room.

 

When everyone was seated and settled, Doc looked at Hardison. She asked gently, “How is this process making you feel?”

 

“I don't know how to answer that.”

 

“There is no right or wrong answer. How you feel is how you feel.”

 

“Embarrassed. A little angry. Confused. Defeated.”

 

“Why would you be embarrassed?” she asked quietly.

 

“Because I couldn't handle this like everyone else would.”

 

“Exactly how do you think everyone else would handle it?” Eliot asked, watching him through narrowed eyes.

 

“Nate wouldn't be having nightmares about being in a box.”

  
“You have claustrophobia. There's a reason you react the way you do.”

 

“Yeah, and you said you had it, too. Only you cured yourself of it.” Eliot sighed. He found himself wishing he hadn't shared that particular part of his youth with his friend.

 

“I shut myself in a woodshed for a few nights, alone, and I survived. Maybe mine wasn't as bad as yours. And you're right—Nate probably wouldn't have nightmares about being in a box. He'd probably be too drunk to notice. I'd be surprised if he doesn't have nightmares about Sam—at least sometimes. Or maybe that's why he drinks—to keep the nightmares away.  If you think I've never had nightmares, you're very much mistaken. In fact, that's why Doc is here. I had one last night.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah, Hardison, I did. You aren't alone in this. Feeling embarrassed is pretty much part of the territory. 

Think about it. You're going through this in a very public fashion, in full view of your friends. Knowing that makes you insecure, and that's even more embarrassing. Your embarrassment is valid, but it's nothing to be ashamed of—none of this is.”

 

Eliot squeezed the younger man's arm gently.

 

Doc gave Hardison a moment to process all that Eliot had said, and then said, “Now tell me why you are angry.”

 

“I'm angry because this is not how I want to live. I feel like I've been robbed of something, and it wasn't my fault, but at the same time, there's nothing I can do about it.”

 

“Oh, there's something you can do. You can fight to get back to where you were before all of this started, or as close to that person as possible. Are you willing to do that?”

 

She and Hardison gazed at one another for a long moment, until he finally nodded, very slowly.

 

“Good. Now answer me this: What are you so afraid of?”

 

Hardison opened his mouth as though to speak and then closed it again. Then he sat there opening and closing his mouth, like a fish flopping around on a dock, gasping for air. Doc's intense gaze never left his. Finally, he said, “I'm afraid of what comes next.”

 

“What do you think that is?”

 

“I-I'm not sure. Eliot said something about getting me over my claustrophobia. And I know we haven't solved the problem yet. This can only get worse, can't it?”

 

“Well, that depends on what you consider worse. There are certainly some other things I'd like to try, with both of you, but they aren't any worse than the nightmares are. Okay?”

 

Hardison nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

 

After a moment, Doc broke the silence and spoke gently.

 

“All right, gentlemen. If you're ready...” she fell silent, and gestured toward another part of the large room. For the first time, Eliot noticed some equipment he hadn't seen before—what looked like black silk hoods and eye masks laid out on a table, with wires protruding from the masks. The wires ran into a small cylindrical apparatus, sitting on one of Eliot's side tables.

 

“What the hell is that?” Eliot's tone sounded, to the untrained ear, more curious than angry, but Doc wasn't fooled. The fact that he had cursed was enough to tell her that he wasn't at all happy about any of this.

 

“When all of this started, we talked about two new therapies we might need to try. This is one of them. It's a concept called Lucid Dreaming. The black silk hood covers your head and protects your face. The  mask fits over the hood. I will inject you both with a medication that will send you to a place between sleep and wakefulness, where it is easier to dream. The masks will help you to be aware of your dreams, and able to change their outcome. Now, the standard treatment protocol is to try one and then, if that doesn't work, to try the other. These two therapies, when used that way, have seen some success.”

 

She paused for a moment, searching for the right words—the words that would put them at ease—make this easier for them.

 

Watching her carefully, Eliot spoke when she stopped. “Why do I think that's not the way you intend to use them?”

 

She smiled. He knew her well. “Because both my intuition and my research tell me that these two will work better together. I propose a situation in which you both rehearse what you wish the outcome of the dreams to be, and when you have a good idea of it in your head, we will move on to the lucid dreaming, so you can change your dreams to what you want them to be. That should take any power they have away. Okay?”

 

Eliot nodded once and then turned away, looking out the window and thinking. Hardison was slightly horrified at the sight before him. _Why would she ask him to put something over his head? Didn't she understand that he couldn't have anything that close?_ Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because she said, “Hardison? Is there a problem?”

 

“I-I can't.” After a moment of staring wildly about, Hardison bolted from the room. Eliot glanced at Doc, and saw that she was as confused as he was. Eliot started for the door. Vance's voice stopped him in his tracks.

 

“Do either of you understand what just happened?” Looking from one to the other and seeing that they didn't, he said, “I thought not. Better let me go.” With that, he rose calmly from his seat and left the room.

 

Eliot shot Doc a bewildered look, and Doc smiled and said, “That's why I brought him along.” Seeing that he was still confused, she spoke again. “I'll let Vance explain it to you when he comes back in, if he will. It's his to tell.”

(0o0)

 

Vance stepped into the hallway, and saw the young man duck into what he guessed to be one of Eliot's guest bedrooms. He hurried to catch up, worried that the young man would lock the door behind him and Vance would, at the very least, have to scare him to get him to open it. As it happened, he needn't have worried. Vance reached the room into which Hardison had disappeared, and knocked on the door, but he didn't receive an answer. Carefully turning the knob, he was still a bit surprised when he was able to open the door without any problem, and he slipped inside. The bedroom itself was empty—he saw that at first glance. Closing and locking the door behind him, he moved into the room, and over toward the other two closed doors inside the room.

 

Flinging one of the doors open, he discovered a closet.  Closing that door, he opened the one right next to it, revealing the head. It was there that he found Hardison half leaning against one wall, breathing heavily. Walking up beside him, he spoke softly, right behind the younger man's ear. -*+

 

“Easy, son. No one's going to make you do anything you can't do. Just try to relax.” Knowing that Eliot's bathrooms would be stocked almost as well as his treatment room, Vance opened the upper cupboard and withdrew a plastic cup, which he filled with water from the sink, and handed to the young man. “Here. Drink this.”

 

After a moment, the color began to return to the young man's face, and his breathing evened out. Finally, he turned himself so that his back was against the wall, and he slid down it and into a sitting position.

 

“Feeling better now?” Vance asked. He had seated himself on a small stool Eliot kept in one corner, and watched his charge carefully.

 

Hardison nodded, gazing warily at the man seated across from him.

 

“Are you ready to go back and join the others? I know Doc would like to talk to you about what happened.”

 

Hardison didn't answer, but he nodded again, and pushed himself to his feet, somewhat unsteady but resolute. He allowed Vance to guide him back down the hall and into the treatment room, where Eliot and Doc waited. They didn't look angry, just confused.

 

“Do you wish to explain, or shall I?” Vance asked, once they were all settled again. Hardison shot him a panicked look, which told Vance he needed to be the one to explain. Doc's expression told him it needed to be sooner, rather than later, thank you very much. He took a deep breath.

 

“Before I left, I asked if either of you understood what happened to Hardison. Have you figured it out?”

 

Both of them shook their heads, waiting.

 

“For a person who is claustrophobic, the idea of putting on anything that obscures vision, or anything which is restrictive in any way, is simply unthinkable. I couldn't do it, even now, and it has been years since my claustrophobia has caused me any real problems.”

 

“Wait, what? You've done it several dozen times in the years that I've known you.”

“Did I say I couldn't do it? I meant to say I couldn't do it without the help of friends. Each time I've had to do it during those dozen or more times since we met, one of the two of you have been close by.”

 

“What are you suggesting, Vance?”

 

“I'm suggesting that this might be the outlet you've been looking for to help Hardison get over his fear, but it must be done properly, and with the support of friends.”

 

“All right. I think we can do that.”


	11. Chapter 11

Hardison wasn't really listening to what they were saying around him. He found he didn't really have the energy for that. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, and let the words wash over him. A moment later, the conversation ceased, he felt eyes on him, and looked around to find the others all staring at him, as though they were expecting an answer, but to what?

 

“Did you ask me something?” he asked, looking between them because he wasn't sure to whom he should address his question.

  
“I did. I asked if you trust us.” Eliot said.

 

He certainly trusted Eliot, and it was clear that Eliot trusted Doc and Vance. He nodded.

 

“Good. Are you ready?”  


“For what?”

 

“To let us help you face your fear?”

 

Hardison nodded, though he really wasn't sure whether he was ready or not. He allowed Doc to help him lie down on one of the cots in Eliot's treatment room.

 

“Close your eyes,” she said, gently.

 

He tried, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he wrinkled his forehead and gazed at her.

 

“I'll tell you everything I need to do before I do it, okay?” He nodded. “Close your eyes.”

 

Hardison closed them, and she turned to look at Eliot, jerking her head to the side as she did so. He rose and moved over next to her.

 

“Hold his hand. It'll help keep him anchored to reality while this is going on.”

 

Eliot seated himself in the chair next to Hardison and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing gently.

 

Talking softly to Hardison, Doc had Eliot guide him until he was sitting up, and then, in one smooth movement, she slipped the hood and mask over his face. His whole body stiffened, and Eliot squeezed his shoulder more firmly. Eliot saw that his friend's breathing was shallow. He had led enough people through life and death situations to know that the young man would respond better to his command presence than he would to friendship at the moment. Summoning his best command growl, he said firmly, “Breathe, Hardison.”

 

His breath hitched, and then, a moment later, he started breathing again, but though it was deeper, it was still in irregular intervals.

 

“Control your breathing. We'll breathe in for a count of four, hold for a count of four, and breathe out for a count of four.” Eliot counted off the numbers out loud, knowing that Hardison couldn't see him, and would take comfort in the sound of his voice. After several minutes of this, the young man started to relax.

When he reached the point where he wasn't on the verge of hyperventilating anymore, Doc leaned forward and spoke softly.

  
“I want you to think about your dream, to see it in your mind, just as clearly as you usually see it, but this time, I want you to try to think of a way to change some part of it—so that it isn't quite so scary. You don't have to share how you plan to change it, but I want you to go over the change in your head until you are so comfortable with it that you are almost convinced that the change is what you dreamed in the first place. Can you do that?”

 

Hardison nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as he did so. Eliot squeezed his shoulder gently and then let go. A moment later, Hardison felt a warm, gentle pressure on his right hand, and he heard a voice in his ear.

 

“I'm here, brother. Right here next to you.” 

 

“Eliot? It's dark in here.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I'm a little scared,” the younger man said, with an expression of imparting a deep secret, and worried about how it would be received.

 

“Me too,” Eliot said, squeezing his hand harder. “What say we walk through the darkness together, yeah?”

 

“Okay. Just--” Hardison began, then broke off abruptly.

 

“Just what, Hardison?”

 

Just—Just don't leave me, Eliot. I don't think I can do this alone.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere.”

 

It was at this point that Doc injected Hardison with the medication in her syringe.  As he slipped deeper into the land of dreams, she leaned forward and began speaking intently.

 

(0o0)

 

Two hours later, Hardison heard quiet voices as he came back to awareness. He hadn't yet opened his eyes, and when he did open them a crack, he saw Eliot, still seated in the chair he was in before. Careful not to move too quickly, Hardison moved his head until he was staring at the ceiling, and concentrated on appearing to still be asleep.

 

“What's the verdict, Doc?”

 

“He did really well dealing with the mask before he went under. That was mostly because of you. He'll likely be dealing with some issues over the next few weeks, as he processes all of this. You'll need to be there for him when it happens, and you know about the nightmares as well as I do. Be there for him, but don't coddle him, as much as you might want to do so. It'll be easier for him if you don't. Otherwise, I think you'll find he's better.”

 

“Thanks for taking such good care of him, Kat.” He turned his head, and looked at the chair next to hers, including Vance in the next statement. “Thanks for coming, both of you. I know it was time out of your busy schedules, and I really appreciate it.”

 

“You can pay us back by talking to Doc about your nightmare, and how all of this is affecting you.”

 

“It was one nightmare, Kat. One. It just threw me off balance because I hadn't had one in a long time. I'm okay. Just shaken and drained.”

 

“If you remember, you and I spoke several months ago about an incident that took place during a job with your team, in which you ignored your gut and allowed an adversary to gain the advantage of you. Are you seriously telling me you don't think the two are related?”

 

Eliot froze, stiffening visibly. He thought about that for a few minutes.

 

“You do?”

 

“I think there's a good possibility. I know you, Eliot. You're way too careful to allow that to happen otherwise.”

 

“But how?” he asked.

 

“Why don't you tell me?”

 

“I don't know,” Eliot said, defensively.

  
“You're the only one who does know.” She knew better than to push him to speak, or to demand that he do so. Neither of those options would get her anywhere. There were some other options if it came to that, but none of those had been necessary for a long time. Usually, all it took these days was the knowledge of what they had been through together and maybe a gentle reminder that she already had enough dirt on him to destroy him, if she chose to do so, which they both knew was nothing more than an idle threat.

 

When he remained silent a beat longer than usual, with an unreadable expression on his face, she cocked her head to the side and looked at him, and said, “Eliot?”

 

“It's been a busy few months. As word spreads about Nate Ford's team, and what we do, we keep getting more clients who need help. None of us really want to turn any of them away if we can help it, but sometimes, it isn't an option. Jobs were stacking up and several of them were physically taxing—more so than usual. I had been telling Nate that we needed to take more down time in between jobs, and I understand why he didn't want to do it. That doesn't change the fact that we needed to take some time off, though.

 “This team has come to mean a great deal to me—almost as much as our team once did. They are my responsibility. I can't stand the thought of any of them getting hurt and because of the frequency of jobs and the nature of some of them, I was worried that someone would get hurt. I almost came to the point that I left the team. I couldn't stay in good conscience, feeling like I was allowing Nate to put the team in danger and I wasn't sure how to stop it, short of kicking Nate's ass.”

 

Eliot heard a gasp from the direction of the bed, and looked over at Hardison in time to see him squeeze his eyes tightly shut. The hacker's breath was too rapid for him to be sleeping. With a growl, Eliot said, “Damn it, Hardison—you may as well open your eyes. I know you aren't asleep.”

 

Slowly, Hardison opened one eye and peered at Eliot, trying to gauge the hitter's anger. His friend didn't seem angry, just slightly confused. Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened the other eye.

 

“How much did you hear?” Eliot asked, trying not to growl, and failing slightly.

 

“Enough. Would you really leave the team—leave us—at this point?”

 

“Only long enough to scare some sense into our illustrious leader, and it probably wouldn't come to that. I'd figure something else out first. I should tell you, though, now that you are awake—what happens in treatment, stays in treatment. I wouldn't want any of this shared with the rest of the team.”  Hardison nodded. He had figured as much, and in his own case, he didn't want anyone sharing the details of his treatment either.

 

With that, Eliot turned his attention back to Doc, who still sat watching him. He finally said, “And, honestly, I guess I trusted Sterling because Nate trusted him, and because we were helping him. There was no reason for him to betray us.”

 

“I believe I'd like to meet this James Sterling,” Doc said, in the tone of voice she had that was so much like a cat, playing with its captive prey before devouring it. Eliot decided quickly that this was a conversation he'd pay money—real money—to see. Or then again, maybe he wouldn't. As much as he seemed to attract violence, he wasn't a fan of bloodbaths, or of the kind of fireworks they would see if Doc and Sterling were to ever meet.

 

A moment later, she shook herself, and then said, “Have you told Nate any of what you just told me?”

 

“Some. Mostly the last part. He doesn't know I considered leaving.”

 

“You need to talk to him,” she said. _And so do I,_ she thought, but she didn't say that to Eliot.

 


	12. Chapter 12

     Doc and Vance had moved into another room for a few minutes to allow Eliot and Hardison some privacy. Hardison sat studying his hands, not yet ready to face his friend. He felt Eliot's eyes on him.

 

“How are you feeling, Hardison?”

 

Hardison finally looked up and the look of anguish on his face was unmistakeable. Eliot looked at him inquisitively. Hardison swallowed hard several times, and then said, “I don't want to talk about it.”

 

“Doc will be coming back in here in a few minutes, and she's going to expect you to talk to her about it,  before she releases you from her treatment.” Eliot rose and moved over to the small desk that sat in the corner of his treatment room. He reached into the cabinet above it and took down a bottle and two glasses. He had poured two fingers of liquid into each glass, and had just slid one of them across to Hardison, who had moved over and seated himself across the desk from Eliot, when he heard a phone ringing.

 

Cursing mildly under his breath, he fished his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Nate.” He listened for a moment and then said, “We're fine. We'll stop back by the office when all of this is done.”

Another moment went by, while Hardison watched as Eliot listened, and then finally Eliot said, “Sure. Why don't you all come for dinner? Yeah.” His face gave nothing away, and he hung up without another word.

 

He noticed Hardison staring at him, and said, “What?”

 

“You invited Nate to dinner?”

 

“Actually, I invited the rest of the team to dinner. They want to be sure you're all right—we're all right. It's not strange to invite friends to dinner, Hardison.”

 

“I know.”

 

“So what's the problem?”  


Hardison felt awkward saying what he was thinking. He looked down at his shoes.

  
“Hardison?”

 

“I don't want to see them. I'm not ready to answer their questions.”

 

“So don't.”

 

“Don't see them? I don't see how I can refuse, especially with you telling me they're coming to check on us.”

 

“Hardison!” Eliot's exasperated growl cut through the chatter, and Hardison trailed off. “Don't answer their questions. I know from experience—answering Doc's questions will be exhausting

enough, and you'll have to do that part—if you want to be released, that is. You don't owe anyone else anything.”

Hardison stared at Eliot. Could it really be that simple? Throwing his head back, he drained the glass Eliot had set in front of him. He set the empty glass back on the desk.

 

A moment later, the door opened. Doc and Vance came back in. Eliot moved to meet them. When the three of them met in the middle of the room, Vance said, “I just came back in to say goodbye. Duty calls.” He slapped Eliot on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Brother.”

 

“You do the same, Brother.”

 

Eliot saw Vance out and then closed the door behind him and walked back over to where Doc had seated herself across from Hardison behind his desk. Eliot took a seat next to his hacker friend.

 

“If I know Eliot, he's already asked my first question for me.” Hardison stared at her with a deer in the headlights expression on his face. Finally, he nodded.

 

He looked like he wanted to vomit, so she decided to take pity on him and get this over with as quickly as possible.

 

“All right. You each have thirty seconds to convince me that you are well enough to be released from care. Eliot, you go first.”

 

“There's not much left for me to say, Kat. You've opened my eyes to a few things I hadn't really considered, and I'll be more careful next time.” Seeing the way she was looking at him, he was quick to add, “And I'm planning to talk to Nate when he comes over for dinner tonight.”

 

She nodded, satisfied, and said, “Good. Hardison?”

 

“I'm fine,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

“Really? She asked mildly, gazing at him intently. He swallowed hard, feeling like he was doing something wrong by trying to convince her he was all right, which wasn't quite the truth.

 

Finally, she said, “That's not very convincing. Wanna try again?”

 

“Okay. I'm not fine, but I will be.” His voice shook, and as he studied the wall just over her shoulder, she saw that his eyes were moist. “I don't have words for this, Doc.”

 

“Just try. That's all I'm asking.”

 

Hardison took a deep breath and his voice was shaky when he started to speak. “Being in that coffin made me feel helpless in a way that I've never felt before. That feeling didn't leave me, even when I found out I was safe. Afterwards, I felt like I was spinning out of control, which didn't help matters either. I was drowning and I didn't even realize it. I'm grateful to Eliot for seeing it before I did, and pulling me up. I didn't want him to bring you in, but I'm glad he did.”

 

“You do realize that the work we've done here isn't exactly a cure, right?”

 

He nodded. “Eliot told me the dreams won't go away over night.”

 

“They may never go away completely. It's important that you know that.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I also want you to know that if you need me, Eliot knows where to find me.”

 

“Thanks, Doc.”

 

“Why don't you get some rest?” she said. Hardison nodded, feeling the exhaustion that came from dealing with all of this seeping into his bones. There was time for a nap before supper. He stretched out on one of the cots, and wasted no time in falling asleep.

 

(0o0)

 

Nate, Sophie, and Parker arrived while Hardison was sleeping. Eliot was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner and humming some old tune off key. Nate heard snatches of the song as he helped himself to a drink from his host's wet bar. The mastermind was rather glad to hear it, as it meant that his  hitter's disposition had improved greatly.

 

Nate replaced the top on the crystal decanter and moved over to the overstuffed leather recliner that sat against one wall of Eliot's comfortable living room. Sophie sat in the softer chair next to his. Parker was somewhere in the house, but what she might be doing was anyone's guess. Nate was possessed of a restlessness that pulled him up out of his chair and sent him prowling around the front of the house.

 

As he passed the kitchen, he glanced inside, and saw Parker perched on a bar stool watching Eliot intently. He turned to move away.

 

“Nate.” The gravelly voice stopped him in his tracks and made him turn back. He moved closer, feeling as though he had been caught intruding on a private moment between two siblings who shared a connection most didn't. Eliot didn't look up from his cutting board. “You're going in to see Hardison.”

 

It wasn't a question. “I thought I might.”

 

“Take him a beer?” he asked, holding the bottle out toward Nate. Nate nodded and took it. Eliot produced a tray from a lower cabinet and placed it on the counter. “And some sherry for Doc,” he added, holding out another glass.

 

Nate arranged the three drinks on the tray and started down the hallway. Eliot's voice trailed after him. “Dinner in ten.” Nate nodded to himself. A moment later, he was trying to figure out how to open the door when, to his surprise, it opened from the inside and Doc stood on the threshold.

 

“Nathan,” she acknowledged in a low voice. “Come in quietly. He's still sleeping.”  Seeing Nate, she smiled and stood aside for him to enter. Placing the tray on the desk, he handed Doc her glass of sherry and took his own glass of Irish. Doc nodded her thanks while she sipped her drink.

 

After a moment, Nate couldn't stand the silence. “Eliot wanted me to let you know that dinner's in ten minutes.” He looked at Doc, finally deciding to just ask the question he needed to ask. Staring at Hardison, he asked, “How's he doing?”

 

“I'm happy to report both patients are on the mend.”

 

“I'm glad to hear it, but I was never worried about Eliot.”

 

“No. Of course you weren't.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“You don't REALLY know him, do you?”

 

“I'd like to think that I do.”

 

“If you know him, you know he's a fiercely loyal man, who inspires great loyalty in return. You all have come to mean a great deal to him. He would die before he allowed anything to happen to any one of you.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Yes, you know it, consciously, but do you truly understand what it means?”

 

“What are you getting at, Doc?”

 

“Eliot is so fiercely loyal and he's made so many sacrifices for others that he often doesn't act in his own best interests, especially when it comes to protecting those he cares about very much. He'll push himself until he's on the verge of collapse to keep all of you safe. He won't tell you that he is pushing as hard as he is, he'll just take it until he can't take any more. When that happens, you'd better hope to Hell it isn't a life threatening situation. You have a responsibility to keep him safe, too, you know.”

 

“I'm not a mind reader. How am I supposed to know when Eliot is reaching his limit? He needs to tell me.”

 

“That's not Eliot. You are the leader of this group, and the mastermind. It's your job to know. You'll have to watch him very carefully. More than that, listen to him. Hear what he isn't saying just as you hear what he is. Trust his knowledge of security and his understanding of the situation. I've never known his reasoning to be faulty. If he asks for time off, it's because he knows the team has been pushing too hard. Respect the request. Grant it when you can.”

 

“I think I can do that.”

 

“Good, because if anything happens to him because of something stupid, you'll answer to me, and to Vance.” Nate stared at her. Doc simply stared back, unperturbed. Her stare became more and more intense, until Nate swallowed hard and broke eye contact with her, looking away. He was still looking away a moment later, when the door opened unexpectedly and Eliot walked in, stopping short when he felt the tension in the air. He looked back and forth between the two.

 

“Nate? Kat? Is everything okay?”

 

“Everything is fine, Eliot. Nathan and I understand one another now. Don't we, Nathan?”

 

Nate nodded absently, still pondering what he had just learned from Doc about Eliot.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Eliot offered Doc his arm, and smiling, she tucked her arm into his elbow, and allowed him to lead her to his dining room. As they approached, she said, “Well, I'm hungry. What's for dinner, Eliot? It smells wonderful.”

 

“One of your favorites, but I'm not telling. It's a surprise.” Feeling him watching her, she cast a sidelong glance in his direction and caught him grinning broadly, and his eyes were dancing.

 

“Someone's in rare form tonight,” she said.

 

“Hardison feels better and so do I. I can't thank you enough for coming, Doc. You don't have to—these people, they're not your responsibility.”

 

“I'm glad to come when you need me. And you're my friend, so you'll always be my responsibility.”

 

The conversation broke off as they reached the kitchen. Eliot held a chair at the table for Doc, prompting Nate to hold Sophie's chair and Hardison, Parker's. The boys seated themselves, except for Eliot, who disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

Moments later, a gravelly voice said, “Make some room. Hot dishes coming through.” Eliot set down steaming plates of Tuscan chicken, with a side of Rosemary mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus stalks. At Eliot's nod, Nate poured the wine.

 

When they were all served and eating, Nate caught Eliot staring at him. The man seemed to be arguing with himself about something. He tilted his head sideways and stared back. When that didn't elicit the response he had hoped for, he said, “Eliot?”

 

The hitter set down his glass with exaggerated care, and brushed his long hair back from his face with his hand. Nate wasn't sure why, but the deliberateness of his hitter's actions made him uneasy. Eliot's eyes burned into him.

 

“I debated bringing this up right now. I don't want to kill the lighthearted atmosphere, but I haven't been completely truthful with you, Nate, and since Doc pointed that out this afternoon, I feel compelled to explain. The team needs to hear this, as it concerns them, too.”

 

Nate started to say something in reply, but cut it off at a stern look from Doc. Eliot took a deep breath, and his mouth moved once or twice, as though he was trying to say something, but no sound came out. After a larger than necessary swallow of wine, and another deep breath, the hitter continued.

 

“I wonder if you know how close I came to leaving a few months ago. Or how close I am now to making this a farewell dinner.”

 

Nate gasped. Whatever he had expected the man across from him to say, it sure as Hell wasn't that. When he found his voice, he was slightly embarrassed that he sputtered as much as he did when he said, “Why?”

 

“Because you weren't listening to me, and your drinking was endangering the rest of the team, and making you take crazy chances. It's like you thought you were invincible. That put me in a rather bad position.”

 

“How?”

 

“My job is to ensure the safety of the team. Those crazy chances you were taking weren't allowing me to do that. I tried talking to you about it --asking for time off, telling you to take me along on certain jobs--but you didn't see the problem. And I couldn't see any other solution short of kicking your ass.”

 

Eliot's eyes were the most intense blue Nate had ever seen. An angry blue. Nate swallowed hard and asked, “What are your plans now, Eliot?”

 

“Well, that mostly depends on you-- on whether you can get your drinking under control—on whether you can listen to me and follow my lead when it comes to the safety of the team—on whether you can start to trust my decisions again, especially those pertaining to security.”

 

“And if I don't?”

 

“I'm out, with whatever of the rest of the team wishes to accompany me. Leverage, Inc. is history. Your next move determines mine. I believe in chess you would say, 'Check'!”

 

“You think you're worthy of all of that?” Nate asked defensively.

 

“No. I think Leverage, Incorporated is worthy of it. So is the team.”

 

Nate looked around at all of the startled faces staring at him, alarmed at what was taking place before their eyes. The same emotions that were blaring inside of him were written on their faces. He was man enough to admit when he was wrong. Well, mostly he was, anyway.

 

“I resign,” he said, pantomiming turning over a chess piece.  “I owe you an apology, Eliot, and I'm happy to give it. I don't know what the team would do without you.” He didn't quite meet the hitter's eyes, and his voice was barely audible when he continued, “what I would do.” Louder, he said, “The question remaining is this: Can you trust me enough to give me another chance, even though I don't deserve one? Can you still have my back?”

 

“I told ya, Nate—all the way down is what I said, and all the way down is what I mean. I'd just prefer not to get there too soon.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Laughter and good conversation flowed as freely as the spirits during dinner, and afterwards, they all rose to move into Eliot's living room, and Doc took that as her cue to take her leave of them.

 

She said her goodbyes to each of the members of Eliot's team, then, never one to apologize for hugs, turned to Eliot and embraced him.  As she did so, she whispered in his ear, “Take care of yourself, Soldier Boy.”

 

“Will do, Kat,” he whispered back.

 

“Good.” Eliot walked her to the door, and watched her pensively as she climbed into her jeep, and as she backed out, his eyes followed her down the driveway and out to the main road, until she disappeared into a cloud of dust. Finally, he seemed to shake himself as he realized he still had guests, and he moved back down to his study for after dinner drinks.


End file.
